the Magician

The uncertainty surrounded him in a smog of too many things to say, too many words to say them, and not enough said. It stifled his breath, put a heavy damp, smelly blanket on his heart, choked his air supply. His throat constricted, his words deep, and heavy. Silence coming out, shaking the earth with its enormous weight.

The uncertainty crept around him, choking, squeezing, cold, clammy hands around his throat, slowly choking, squeezing, laughing with a harsh, echoing voice as the light drained from his eyes.

He would not die. No, that would be too easy. No, he would not die. Instead, he would live with a light extinguished. His voice soft, scratchy, always an itch in the throat that had so many things to say and had been stifled. By choice. His eyes lightless. Blank, empty, dull. Extinguished, like a candle forgotten, sat by the windowsill, and the cold harsh wind blowing away the fire from it. No, he would not die.

Dreams, thousands of tiny, countless dreams. It was not as if he could not do them, it was not as if he could not fulfil them. But it was. And it wasn’t. Hard to explain. But everyone goes through it, visions unfilled, requests, dreams, ideas of celebrity. Poof. A shake of the Magician’s hand, and it all goes away. The Magician is who you have to blame. The Magician is the antagonist. He knows you like no one else, not even you know you. The Magician stands, magnificent, tall, makes you feel tiny and insignificant. He puts you in a box, promises of the world in your eyes, he begins to cut with the saw. The anticipation, the joy you have, threading its way like a needle into your heart. Too late, you realize you cannot feel your limbs. Your excitement numbed you. The saw cut through your body like grating cheese. You did not see it coming. How could you, you were in a box, he had put a blindfold on you, and in the darkness, you saw dreams of the audiences that would one day stand before you. Saw, saw, saw. You saw. The saw sawed. Then it was all gone. You were chopped up into pieces, thrown into an alley. The Magician is the enemy. You either outsmart him, or you become smaller. You lose parts of yourself. The feeling, the electric spark that comes to your fingers, each groove in your fingerprints, that makes you you, becoming part of the collective. Being filed into line, becoming normal. The Magician is a wily one. He flourishes and with a wave of his hands, wins the crowd. The Magician is a sly one, he makes you think you are merely an assistant in the spectacle of your life. That your show is not set in Vegas, that the crowd is not there for you. And belief is what makes magic, magical. When you believe that, so does the crowd. They begin to look to the Magician, and believe in his illusions.

You want to know the identity of the Magician?

It is no big secret.

Find yourself a mirror.