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My story shall appear below once it's written!
|Treasure, bat, magic wand|
From up here, I can see forever. The nightlights of the city below me dazzle like stars reflected on the sea. A distant memory... This is some departure from my last grand entrance into life; a misty port, a British storm, gothic cliffs, rats and rum. Boeing is far more refined. There is no storm, no rough tide, shutters for the dawn and not a pest in sight. I have a glass of very fine Red. There are too many air stewardesses anyway.
I am no longer angry. I have gotten over mourning. So long, my wife, I start anew. In this city of dreams where anything is possible, and anyone is whoever they want to be. I let go. New York, my new mistress, shall show me what can be mine.
A basement apartment – perfect! A job as a magician at a nightclub – what luck! It’s almost too good; a license to make people disappear. I’ll select my meal each night from a menu of new choices. If I can just look past the comedy of the role... top hat, bow tie, bunny, wand. It’s as if I am cursed to forever play a caricature of a time I want to forget.
The two nights before I start on the job are adrenaline fuelled as I plan my Big Act. I have my large shipping chest, which will do nicely. I empty it of the treasures of my past; heirlooms, portraits, coins and leather bound books. There are two diaries that fall, all of a flutter. Why must my past be around every corner? Once empty, the chest is cavernous. A wry smile wraps my face. I saw out the chest’s bottom and check my cape covers the chest completely. Everything will work. I am itching with anticipation. Hungry, one might say, to begin.
For months now, I have achieved everything I had hoped for. New York, you Angel, for siding with the Devil! I have perfected my line for the worried faces of friends and lovers – “Ah but Sir, magic is magic. Before you leave this place she shall return.” I leave an hour before the club closes and linger. I’ll probably catch The Concerned as they leave too. I am getting rather fat.
Ah, it has come. The inevitable. I have been too gluttonous! The NYPD have been snooping around my apartment today. They questioned my possession of copious antiques (“why does a man with such tastes work a novelty act?”) and waylaid their opportunity to remove any floorboards. The time has come. It is sad. I have enjoyed my life here, but my Final Act has been ready for weeks. I felt the change in the air. Suspicion smells like liver.
At the club I am routine. I change nothing but the position of my chest. I place it near a window. After three taps of my magic wand I open the lid and the girl inside has not gone anywhere. The audience laughs. Heckles.
“And now, my final act!” In a spin I transform and fly, black and leather winged towards the moon. Hmm where, next?