When my friends and I went to town to see the magic show we didn’t know what to expect. We’ve heard great things. We’ve heard shocking things. We’ve heard unbelievable things.
It was a warm summer night. The event was happening outdoors in the town’s amphitheater, which was not as fancy as it sounds.
When we arrived many people were already settled. Including me and my two friends, there must have been at least 300 people. Quite impressive. I had never seen our measly event location that packed — a true can of sardines.
I was a bit surprised. Some part of me could’ve sworn there was never that much space to begin with. That part didn’t hinder me from comfortably crashing into my seat in the first row.
The first row wasn’t popular. I guess people were afraid of being sawed into half or pulled out of a hat, or worse, stuffed into a hat.
Me, I didn’t mind being included. If the magician wanted to drag me into his trickery, I would welcome it gracefully without resistance.
To be honest, I always liked attention and was never shy about attracting it. I always made sure to seem modest and humble about it while secretly basking in the attention’s delicious rays.
—
Just as the sky and the setting sun were about to put up their own show, the stage lights dimmed and foreboding fog rolled out from an unseen source. The fog covered the ground sufficiently to hide the legs of a grown human.
To my, and I assume everyone else’s, surprise the magician appeared on the stage without appearing from somewhere. There was no trace of him crawling through the fog or ascending through a trapdoor. I blinked and he was there.
The fog seemed quite unnecessary as if its purpose was to mock a cliché. The magician’s attire was cliché as well. He wore a burgundy colored frock, polished black shoes, and the classic top hat, surely hiding a bunny, some pigeons, or both.
600 hands applauded his appearance. He bowed deeply.
Without saying a word, he retrieved a single playing card — a Joker — from his jacket and held it up for everyone to see. The joke’s on the people in the last rows who most likely couldn’t see the potentially important details of the card’s value, I thought.
As if in response to my thinking, the magician flicked the card into the crowd like a shuriken. But instead of landing anywhere, the card slowly! looped around the crowd and boomeranged right back into the illusionist’s hand.
600 hands responded with applause.
I was dumbstruck. This trick seemed outright impossible. Skill alone couldn’t be enough to defy physical laws. But I was clueless about what kind of sorcery was needed for this.
My face must’ve given away my bafflement because the trickster glanced at me, smiling cheekily.
He then flipped the card high into the air where the card decided to cease existing. Before I could give in to another wave of bafflement, I noticed an inexplicable urge to reach into my pocket. This I did.
I retrieved a Joker card. Of course I couldn’t be 100% sure it was the same one I had just watched disappearing. But I was pretty convinced that whoever had plucked that card out of existence was the same one who had now deposited it into my pocket.
The magician smiled at me mischievously. His hand beckoned me to come up to the stage. My legs responded without my consent.
598 hands applauded.
The one most flabbergasted was of course me. The audience probably assumed I had been initiated. I knew I hadn’t been.
My legs which had their own mind now carried the rest of my body swiftly up the stairs where I met the magician’s skyward-facing palm. His mouth didn’t say a thing. His eyes did all the communication — they were a shimmering green like the scales of a viper. They demanded the card I was still holding in my left hand.
It seemed like my hands were now in cahoots with my legs because they too moved without my mind’s instructions.
Next, the illusionist carelessly flung the card behind him where the card had a new idea — it reworked itself into a coffin.
At this point I was no longer surprised. I was hypnotized and moved automatically toward the wooden crate. The rectangular structure had a horrible Joker painted on its lid. I stared at it and it stared back. Before I knew it I was already inside the coffin my head sticking out a hole in the top and my legs sticking out a hole in the bottom.
I knew what was coming next but I didn’t know how it was coming. Usually when people are magically cut in two, two people are in the box. But here it was just me and there was no instruction nor enough room to tug my legs in, which would ruin the trick anyway.
How would the magician do it? I wondered.
As it turned out he would do it quite straightforwardly.
He appeared in my field of view with a nasty-looking saw. The saw was big enough to journey across the coffin easily without ever slipping out, and it looked hungry.
I panicked. My mind screamed Stop! but my mouth had joined my legs and arms in self-sovereignty and refused to carry out its command.
The illusionist’s grin turned from mischievous to malicious. He started laboring on the coffin, working through the thin layer of wood protecting my flesh from the saw’s wicked teeth.
The crowd stopped breathing.
Finally, the wood gave in and what came next was unbelievable. Any rational thought about this being a trick went out the window when I felt the saw tearing into my abdomen. This madman was really cutting me in half on stage!
I mentally screamed in pain as the teeth greedily tore me apart. My mouth still didn’t feel like voicing my discomfort.
The crowd looked on in shock, which was exacerbated by the look of pain and terror on my face. Their faces still believed this was an illusion while mine knew it wasn’t, which for their faces was a sign that this must be a real good trick.
If I could’ve moved my body I would’ve squirmed and writhed and, of course, tried to escape. But my non-compliant limbs accepted my fate on my behalf.
Meanwhile, this son of a bitch gladly butchered away.
When he finished the job he dropped his tool and put his hands on his hips looking quite pleased with himself. He reminded me of my dad who would strike the same pose after a job well done.
Pain gave way to cold numbness.
And when the trickster separated the divided pieces from each other to reveal my innards to the crowd, the last thing I heard, before losing consciousness, was screaming and retching.
—
The loss of consciousness was a mere blink.
I opened my eyes and looked into familiar green eyes. I was seated on the pavement in front of an old man. The man looked homeless. The silver of his brushy beard reflected the sunlight, blinding me momentarily. He smiled.
“See. I told you I could trick you,” he said bemused.
My mind was still reeling. I didn’t know what was going on. Where was I? Why was I sitting here with this man?
“Huh? Where am I? What did you do?” I sputtered.
“I put you under a spell,” he answered happily.
I stared at him. His answer didn’t make sense to me and I didn’t know why. A vital piece seemed to miss. And then it hit me: Who am I? Not only did I not know where I was and what was going on, but I had no clue who I was.
“Why can’t I remember who I am?” I asked anxiously.
“Oh my, the illusion was that effective, huh? Who could’ve known,” he laughed.
“Any moment now,” he added.
I was about to rake my mind when I noticed something slipping. Every thought slipped away from my mind like drops of water from an infinitely smooth and infinitely slippery surface. Everything vanished before it was fully formulated. My sense of self flowed through the cracks of my awareness out into nothingness.
I blinked.
The confused man in front of me was gone.
I remained still for an eternal moment. Then I stroked my brushy silvery beard and roared in delight. I have finally achieved it. I have created the greatest illusion to ever exist and banished boredom forever.
Luka
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