The bird was small, and yellow. It chirped feebly, and blinked softly in the blinding light. It was new to this world. A world unlike the ones it had seen before. It blinked again, red velvet and white pinkish ovals coming into focus. Then all was darkness, and it’s tender heart snapped in two. Freedom was there. Two inches away. Hope was there. And it was broken.

That’s our job, when it comes down to it. Break hope and faith. Why would anyone watch us and laugh, if they knew it was real in the first place? Illusions of grandeur. Black hats, tail coats, red ribbons, it’s all an illusion. Not. Real. That’s the thing I’ve always hated. The children’s faces, their parents laughing and calling them silly. “It’s real, mum, it really is!” The bird’s sorrow pales compared to mine.

But what can you do, but smile? You can show them more fakery, more tricks of the trade, and hope, one day, they’ll realise the truth. Some never do. I didn’t, not for a long time. I spent many long summer days and longer summer nights trying to make a bird appear using only my mind and my broken little soul. I had to get out, to leave the town, to leave the floods and famine. The lights and laughter of the magic show were a portal for me, a way to escape. I figured that something that wonderful could serve as well as any other means to get out for good. Forever.

And so here I stand, the stage is set, the magic in motion, the breath being held. My gambit has been played. An Ace of Spades, of sorts. She’s beautiful, full lipped, blonde, blue eyed. An excellent distraction. There’s nothing left to be prepared, and the lights flick on, the focus on me.

Flicks of the wrist, flowers, colors, lights, birds, charm, smiles, trickery, lies. All a part of the show. “I assure you, my fine gentleman, that what you witness tonight is completely real and genu-ine magic!” What else can you say? “I know that you all came here because you know I’m fake, so enjoy the show!”? It’s a loop, an infinite problem I’ve never solved.

Another snap and the room is showered with colored paper. The audience gasps and exclaims with delight. I turn sour inside. I’ve done this too many times. It’s cheap, and I don’t care about the tickets it sells. Transported man, transformed woman, appearing balls, disappearing birds or rabbits, it’s all horrid and old and nothing new has come to this world in years. It’s monotonous and despicable.

A charming smile and a bird flutters about the room. More laughter.

The lights dim and water turns in my hand, seemingly to my will.

A clap and a shout and… nothing. Nothing? I look up, attempting to conceal my alarm. The technician, asleep on the job. I grimace internally. Not this. This is a nightmare.

I smile and laugh, a tad too nervously. How the hell am I going to light the stage on “fire” now? I close my eyes and think for a moment. Fire. What else could I do? Fire. How can I escape this hole I have dug myself into? FIRE. Fire? My boots warm and I open my eyes.

Screaming. Running. Crying. The technician is a charred corpse, boiled and peeling flesh surrounding yellowed bone. The room is aflame.

My assistant has fled. Only I remain. I drop to my knees, eyes wide with disbelief. A lone yellow bird flies from my sleeve and swoops across a windowsill. Freedom.

Firemen arrive, and drag me away in a stretcher. I don’t move, not an inch. My eyes never close, and the shock runs through my veins, thicker than blood.

I have done it.

Magic.