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.
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.
