Shenanigans of Surely Dead Men

The Great Danton

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"

     A man looks down at the crowd, nervously smiling. The announcer continues.

"MAY I PRESENT TO YOU..."

     His voice echoes into a hushed crowd in the most grand of places. Their silence blending into the dim setting in anticipation for what they will witness.

"THE GREAT DANTON!"

     The man on the stage removes his hat, and bows to the crowd, who immediately cheers. This, this was the dazzling air of the famed Palais Garnier.

     One last chance to prove his greatness. His prestige. Right before the audience of only the most cultured, most tuned to entertainment.

Behold, right before him towered a machine with brilliant bolts striking like an wrathful gof. This was the future, the hope, the key and the kite of humanity. Men are to transcend mere humanity. Yet, this work of pure genius was to be wasted on a magician... a liar. One who entertains. A jester. No true ruler to wield such a contraption, but a mere fraud. Yes, that's what he was. There was no trick, or what one may call "magic". It was simply, technology. A cheater, one who defeats the purpose of his own life... if only he had something else to explore, that traveling one-man-circus that he was.

"Everything you see is completely safe!" he announces. It wasn't.

     He thought to himself, was it his turn to be the man in the spotlight, or the man in the box? Had he lost himself already? He was always so lucky to he the man taking the bow, those ninety-nine other times previous. Just... what if?

     The machine waited for him. He threw a flower to the audience, who roared with excitement. This excitement, he knew was so temporary, and could be gone in an instant, just like a magic trick. An older woman in the crowd caught the flower, and her husband gave her a kiss. Their (presumably) grandchild sat on the lap of the woman. The little girl was filled with excitement at such novelty of the magician. She had not been around to see the time of misery that her grandparents lived through. It was innocence she beamed, unlike the worn illusionist.

     Stepping into the machine, each footstep he felt align with his heartbeat, steadily speeding up. He enjoyed the pain of his soul being split into a million pieces, but feared the possibility of death below. The specters of his past would catch up to him someday. He felt himself being caressed by the lightning, the little yet hollow satisfaction from just the self's passing into another dimension. Maybe, he hoped those internal devils would manifest into his waking world, as he only sought punishment for selfish play on divine creation. But yes! He was surpassing God now! The bolts would renew him across the theatre, he'd be transported! It was a marvel beyond that time. He'd be going far, far-

Down.

     There was something wrong. Of course it was, no God would let a man of the devil fulfill evil desires. No blasphemy, no spite taken. He had fallen. Cast out of the spotlight, he was the modern Lucifer.
     He felt himself collapse underneath the open trapdoor as the machine cut out. The trapdoor was not even cued to release yet- it had come two seconds early. A fatal error.
     In those moments of the fall, everything went silent. No audience to gasp, or cheer, or scream. Mephistopheles had come to take what he was owed. Splash. Into the tank went the magician, the Great Danton- no... Robert Angier. Nothing was great about him, you would say if you were watching closely. The water was cold, paralyzing, frightening, yet it was a new kind of high. It rushed above him like an ocean, and he was desperate to prove that he would survive, to be among those who defied death. Fear was taking over, he would never let the water win. Was this the cruel fate that his wife had faced? Those ninety-nine copies of himself had faced? Yes, indeed. And they had no way out. He did.