The piece of paper flutters violently in his trembling hands. His voice is nowhere to be found. Alone on the stage, the room is silent, waiting, expectant. He buries his face in his notes, shrinking behind the podium.
He begins slowly, faintly; his voice a whisper, his lips barely forming the words. The room is deathly quiet, only the faint murmur of his voice can be heard.
He continues. First paragraph complete. A small one, but an accomplishment nonetheless. He starts the next one, a bit louder this time. And the next one. The stage doesn't seem so large and lifeless anymore.
He presses on, halfway down the page now. His hands no longer tremble; his voice growing stronger with each sentence. The words are making sense now.
Now he's no longer merely reciting words--he's believing, preaching, spewing these words with deep passion. His initial fright is forgotten; he no longer fears his audience. His voice rings out from the stage, enveloping the room with words that he can stand behind and call his own. The page flutters to the floor; now he's speaking from his heart.
He grips the podium and pauses for an instant to catch his breath. For the first time, he scans the room. Rows upon rows of empty seats meet his eyes, and his ears are filled with the rolling echo of his own voice.
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