The Magician

Chapter 1 p.5

The magician trembled as the body of a volcano would, trying to withstand the pressure of an impending earth quake; hoping not to erupt.

He buried his hands deep in the solution, struggling to keep his balance through the convulsions of the quakes.

By the way he looked you could tell this was not easy and brought great discomfort. Long linear streams of blood ran from his nose to the podium; his faced paled as a silk worm emerging from its cocoon, but he refused to stop. With every inch of strength left he pushed on.

Why was this so important to him? Why put yourself through this vexation? One thing for certain was that this was more than just entertainment. He wanted something, maybe prove something. But what?

Finally when the room calmed, and the audience relaxed we were drawn to the two stone eagles on opposite ends of the stage.

once more this man had challenged conventional belief. He took his muddy hands from the bowl and placed them on each side of the podium, still holding his eyes shut. The blood had dried around his lips trailing down to his chin. From our row we could hear the suppressed rambles of the magician. His voice was strident as a tire ready for grease and coarse like he had swallowed a mouthful of talc powder.

As he spoke the stone eagles started to twist and contort. Their eyes no longer closed, blinked like that of a true bird. They scratched and pulled at their napes with their long scowling talons then let out a mighty screech.

”Kkaaa!” It roared, flapping its wings—readying for take off.

Within an instant, above stood magnificent stone eagles flying lively through the aisle, up to the painted ceiling. We all watched in astonishment and amusement, not knowing how to respond. Never would anyone fathom a man commanding a statue through the air. 

To end his breathtaking act, Alfred made the birds of prey battle midair. The bird with a chipped beak would twist and swerve, maneuvering to avoid the attacks. The other bird knew better. He knew the only way to win was offensive action. Every move chipped beak dodged, the opposing bird would counter, pushing harder and more aggressive till the chipped beak bird had no choice but to submit.

When the battle ended, Alfred the magnificent returned the birds to their corners stiff and lifeless as before. Loud cheers once more took the audience; this time met with a standing ovation.

“Thank you all!” the magician bowed and smiled; waiting for everyone to be seated again.

“I know it was not easy watching something you thought impossible unfold before your eyes. I want you to all leave this room different, unable to simply follow status quo.”

The audience applauded, uncertain of what he meant. The truth is, none of us  knew what we witnessed. Magic was the stuff of fairytales mama would read to you at night.

“The reason I have shared this with you is of great significance to me. Over my time in Europe I followed the growing decline in magic users. It is up to me to find a new generation of people willing to give magic a try. I won’t be an easy task but I believe there is something in all of you that stayed.”

Everyone looked side to side seeing who remained. I could see the remaining were mostly kids, no older than 15. Jack and Emilia both gave stares wondering what would happen next. The only thing we were curtain of was that our previous lifes were over.

The magician gave one last chance to those weary to leave. Donald was the first to go, followed by a couple kids I recognized from the park and school.