The Spaces In Between

I have the main part in a play where a father abandons his young son. The scene takes place by the sea and depicts him hurling his son's boots away.
Backstage in an empty dark red room, unseen but overheard by the audience, I pick up the boots and pause, holding them in the air, imagining the arc of the boots' trajectory before dropping them with a crash at the opposite end of the room. I begin to cry convincingly as the lost boy. Another pause, then I head out of the room and announce, "End of Act 1". I realise that good art must leave gaps for the imagination.
Then of course I start to worry about my lines for Act 2...