Flash Fiction: Illusion

As is my habit from time to time, I post short pieces of fiction. Sometimes they make sense, most of the times they don’t. The point is to act, to write. Enjoy…


The Muse.

She was always there, waiting for the appropriate time to make her presence known.

It was late.

Scrolling through different ideas he had written down, nothing was catching his eye. Nothing was “popping” out at him. The writer got up from his laptop and grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge and walked back to his point of origin. As he sat, she came in through the kitchen. Delicate, bare feet on a hardwood floor, she moved phantom-like towards the Writer. At first, she placed her hands on his shoulders, slowly moving forward, she embraced him from behind, cradling her head on one of his shoulders. Breathing in unison with him, she stroked his shoulders and then turned her face to whisper in his ear.

Enchantment. Inspiration. Something small to get him writing.

Amuse me…

Make me think, make me laugh, make me cry or make me wonder, I don’t care…

Write for me…

A small spark in his mind, a snap shot of a scene… his fingers found the keyboard and began to write…

The Illusionist stood on a stage, in front of a curtain, speaking with a young woman.  The amphitheater was empty and the two looked like they had stepped out of a Fred Estaire movie. A Tuxedo and a flowing gown. She was no more than thirty, he was perhaps a decade older, plus or minus a few years. He was entertaining her with stories of old when her curiosity got the better of her. She asked what was behind the curtain. She admitted that it had intruiged her since the show began. Some playful banter went back and forth between them, he teased that a wizard should never reveal his secrets. The fun, he said, was in the illusion itself.

She was persistant. It was her eyes and smile that got him in the end. Relenting with a warning, what you see won’t make any sense, try and she might over the next few days. Whatever she sees could be summoned from the depths of her mind as easily as his. She bit her lip and nodded, thinking he was just toying with her, stalling.

Compared to the great length and height of the curtain itself, The Illusionist pulled the curtain back ever so slightly, but it was enough. The young woman put her face into the crack, peered in to the darkness. It took awhile for her eyes to adjust, but as she did she saw a light.

No…a spotlight and it was focused on a solitary man.

She wasn’t sure how but the image was getting closer, like she was watching a movie. She could see now that the scene was a Big Top Circus Tent. The solitary man was on a tightrope, high above the crowd. She couldn’t see the crowd, but she could sense them…however that was possible.

She looked back at the Illusionist, he merely gestured back to the curtain, that sly smile still on his lips. Peering back in, she could see the man begin his walk down the tightrope. Steady, focused, determined, confident. Each step made with purpose. Near the middle, predictably, he stops. Pausing.

The “camera” panned around the man, zooming, as it were, on his feet. Shod in a minimalist kind of slipper, the tread on the sole was some sort of thin leather.

The tightrope… the tightrope…

Something was off…

Almost sensing her curiosity, the camera shifted once more, revealing a better view of the tightrope he had walked out on.

Razor wire…

At the realization of the obstacle he traversed, the camera shifted once more to show his point of view. At the place where he stopped, the tightrope was impossibly split into seven different paths.

The slippers only offered protection if he kept moving, barely touching the razor wire. But here, at this crossroad, it began to slowly cut through the soles.

Seven options.

Seven possibilities.

The was wearing thinner…

Without warning, everything zoomed out and up into the night sky, back, back, back into the dark and blackness of the curtain. She pulled back and the Illusionist let the curtain close.

She had a puzzled look. She wondered if that was one of his Illusions. He put a white gloved hand on one of her shoulders, gently squeezed and gave a playful wink.

An Illusionist never really reveals his secrets…

**Hey there! First, I want to express my thanks to you for reading this post. If you find value in what I’m writing or you know someone who would, the biggest compliment I can receive is for you to share this post far and wide: Instagram, Facebook, SnapChat or even E-mail. While you’re at it, leave a comment or two, I’d love to hear your thoughts! Thanks again!**

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