The magician

The magician stood at the center of the stage. It was an old number to perform. Something he had done thousand times in his life. He was relaxed. His movements were smooth and confident as he took out a bouquet of daisies from the creases of his jacket. The audience applauded, but he was not moved by their expressions of admiration, He had got used to it through the years he had spent on stage. He did enjoy appreciation he would receive here and there but he did not feel the need of it anymore. He was not hungry for it as he had once been while standing in front of the roaring crowd. What thrill had it been... but now the thrill had been long gone. It was precision and flow of his movements that drew him towards performing his shows well rather than unfulfilled desire to shine.
When the performance got over he went quietly to the green room and took off the mask of a face that was stuck to his body. He was faceless now. It didn't really matter for everybody around him had forgotten what his name was. He was known to them as the magician. The man of crafty fingers. He kept his face on a hanger and fixed its smile a bit as it was explicitly stated in his contract that should have an impeccable smile whenever he stands on stage.
He wanted to go home but the minute he took the first step towards the doors he tripped on an orange peel that drifted into his greenroom from somebody else's story. He felt for a moment that he is not a master of his own destiny anymore. This thought frightened him and so he threw his arms wide in his last attempt to catch the balance but it was too late. He was falling behind and strangely enough he had thought that he caught a glimpse of a girl clad in a torn blue skirt. She was fighting against the current of a river as her hands were smeared with stains of blue paint.
He had been falling for quite some time now as suddenly he realise that he is floating on the waters in a tiny room where the eyes of his own face were looking at him from a painting hanging on the wall.
'But I do not exist...' he began to scream as he felt a soft touch of somebody's hand brushing through his dry disheveled hair. It felt warm and comforting and so he slowly drifted towards the land of his unconscious... many years later he would have written it in a book that this was the first time he had slept for real.

Stairway to infinity...

There once was a girl who thought she knew what heaven looks like. I am not sure if she herself was the author of the image of heaven of her dreams or maybe she had created it from scraps of conversations she overheard while having chicken at a 1.30 pm Sunday lunch with her family. Or maybe she just remembered one of the advertising slogans for heaven?
I don't know.
What I know is that she really tried hard to reach that heaven of her dreams. She studied hard, she collected objects that could help her towards getting to heaven. She thought she could climb there by the ladder that she would keep next to a cloud and try to climb up. She tried so hard that drops of sweat were dripping from her forehead even though it was not a hot summer... She tried and tried and tried... For a moment or two she would even think that she had indeed touched heaven with her hand... But somehow whatever she touched left only stains of blue colour on her hands. The marks of acrylic paint. You see... The heaven she touched was just a word that somebody pained on the ceiling with a blue coloured paint.
She wasn't angry. Or maybe she was? She was disappointed I guess. She might have even felt cheated for a moment... but whose hand was it that had scribbled on the ceiling of her house? Wasn't it she herself? She was confused on that one...
She might have been confused about many things, and she might have been experiencing many contrasting feelings at that moment, but one thing she was sure of - she could never satisfy herself with a mere word, with the confinement of a small room, with blue painted ceiling instead of an open sky. The infinity...
So she packed her backpack and turned herself into railway tracks... But not ordinary railway tracks... You see... Whatever was behind her began to bend and roll inwards like a scorpion's tail... There was no way of going back... One could only move ahead... Whatever was there behind was rolling inwards like a wave and an invisible hand held an eraser that would gradually make the pages of the past histories turn pale and the words that had been written on them were slowly becoming unrecognisable.
It was a magic railway track that would move ahead in twists and turns through the fields. It was a safe track - whatever was behind was blurred so there was no possibility that suddenly a heavy black locomotive engine would crush you from behind.
The track was moving ahead all the time. The most magical thing about the railway tracks is that if you look forward you think that you see the end of your journey but as you move closer to that point you realise that it is not the end at all, and then you see another point far away on the horizon and you begin to move towards it, and again, and again... till infinity.
There are no stations next to this railway tracks. Stations have words written on them, and once you reach a station you have to stop according to a schedule and depart according to a schedule. You can't even wait for a passenger that was getting late for the train....  No. Stations are not for this railway track. This railway track goes through fields...  And whenever the girl wants she can just transform herself into a girl, and sit by the track and breathe...
She is sitting next to railway track right at the moment. It might even sound funny to you, but I think she even took out an old style curved pipe and began smoking it as she is sitting there.
So she is sitting smoking her pipe by the railway tracks and looking at a filed stretching in front of her. The soil is very fertile and somebody just sowed the seeds. The scarecrow is there in the field. It's a very colourful and cool scarecrow. Do not ask me for the definition of 'scarecrowiness', but it's a very scarecrowy scarecrow...
You can punch the scarecrow jokingly and it will take off its hat... It's a nice scarecrow. A friendly one.

So the girl is sitting there by the railway tracks with her pipe. The filed is there. The scarecrow is there. The railway track is also there. And the girl is there too.

She is waiting and enjoying the moment.

The girl is there. And so are possibilities. The railway track. The field. The scarecrow. These are the possibilities.  But the girl is there for sure.