Book I : Fantàsticque :: The Estranged Trilogie ::: A Sherlock Fanfiction

VIII. Magic Show

Why, greetings there, spectator.

Do you see the crystalline staff in your peripheral vision?

Do you hear it?

Clink,

Clank,

Clink.

It is to arrive,

To cast illusory visions.

And do you hear the whoosh of the tailcoats and,

The flourish of the hat?

Do you hear the flick of a card

And the fizzle of sparks

And the torrents of blood gush through your ears?

Your heartbeat rapidly quickens,

And you watch the stars dance in front of you.

Your heartbeat now matches the crashing water,

Colliding,

And sprinkling you with droplets.

The fire reflects in your eyes,

Blue, then orange, then red and purple and green.

And you feel a storm coming on, it's a-washing and a-pouring, all over you.

But you remain dry.

And a tip of his hat,

A swoosh of his tailcoats,

The ringing of his crystal staff as he walks away,

Clink,

Clank,

Clink.

Your heartbeat slows.

You feel something in your hair.

You reach, and grab it, with your clammy hands.

Silver and pale as the moon,

Ominous as the midnight wolf howling

Growling.

Ace of spades,

And three line of words:

"Intelligence is the illusion cast by God,

And true intellect belongs to only those,

Who see the truth."

And you blink once,

Remembering your goal once again,

And you walk off.

Congratulations, spectator.

You are a dead man walking.