Illusions

The illusions were snow, drifting down. John Leary could see everything. Just a short piece I wrote on magic tricks.

The illusionist shuffled the blue colored cards making a show of his tricky slight of hand. John watched with a less than amused expression. The child just in front of him gazed up in wide eyed astonishment as the showman displayed the original card of spades along with a showman copyrighted smirk. The few adults clapped, a deliberate beat showing appreciation, and the children clapped wildly and eagerly, fast like the beating wings of a humming bird. The illusionist showed a few more tricks, with ribbons this time. A girl giggled shyly in shear glee as he pulled a winding, blue, red, green, and yellow scarf from her ear.

More show, more tricks.

Coins trickled, glittering into the showman’s hat, as he held it out gratefully, his smile genuine this time. In a final parting gift for the children, he ran a hand twisting and turning over the up turned hat. He flipped it over, right side up, and the coins were gone. The children laughed and clapped again before their parents gave a smile and tugged them along, back to home for supper.

The illusionist, his hat back on his head and pockets jiggling with change, strode down the street lighting a pipe walking on his merry way down the windy town streets. The weather was chilly, not quite winter, not quite fall; the kind of in between season that comes for a few days, perhaps a week, but before long is blown away by the wintery snows.

Lonely as it seemed, John Leary stood there on the paths of the streets near the shops, where the illusionist had been before. The streets were nearly empty, now just a few people rushing through the chilled evening to their homes before the true winter cold broke in for night. He stood there for a long time, or so it seemed to him. The cold was there now, but he paid no mind. He was content, there in his coat standing idle on the street, watching as the town settled in for supper hour.

He thought about the illusionist, the showman. John had never liked them much, not at all. Oh, but he liked them, sure. They used a trick or two, a slight of sleeve, a wave of hand to make some extra income. It wasn’t that John never liked them. No, it was just that he could see everything. He knew what each trick was or wasn’t, and how to get the card from here to there. Easy, he saw everything.

The kids, he thought. The kids, they are sure fascinated. Yeah, but they’re young. Easy to impress… but those adults. Man, those adults. What are they so excited about? They act all passive, sometimes even act amazed just for the kids’ sake, but nothing’s an act from what I see. Yeah, they’re all wondering how that guy did it. How he moved the card, or made the coins disappear. Magic. Yeah, it’s magic, sure.

A door opened and closed behind him, and John turned to meet the bored face of a shopkeeper. The keeper locked the door, looked at John, and blinked. “Hey, man…uh… what are you doing out here? Big blizzard coming you know. Heard it on the radio.” he said, his nose already reddening from the windy cold.

“Yeah,” John offered for response. His thoughts were still elsewhere, with the illusionist. Yup, he saw everything.

“Ok… see you around. Get home safe and all, alright man?”

“Sure.”

The shopkeeper left, walked briskly down the stone road, past the rest of the shops, around the corner, out of sight. It started to snow. The illusions were snow, drifting down. Every snowflake is unique until it touches your palm and melts, but then it’s just water. Illusions were the snowflake; fascinating and free, but when you get right down to it, once you see everything, it’s all just water and hidden coins. 

Author's Note

Alright this was just a piece I wrote that was inspired by a man I once saw walking down the street. He had seemed to be in a rush when suddenly he stopped to see a street magician. What do you think of the contrast between the snow and the magic? I made it all up on the spot so the metaphor might be a little rough.