The Illusionist

Sitting across the table from you, Sir/Madam—
I see you are the chosen one hiding the draw key.
I say, my how young you look, younger than expected, perhaps.
You say, ‘just enough’ and your blue breath spirals between us like confetti.
Poof! A spell is cast and we are left dazed.
Follow me just, follow me, just the eyes.
 
Mask on. 
Mask off. 
Mask on. 
Mask off. 
My degrees run laps around the table, then fall exhausted to the floor.
With each question, I recalculate my size and wait.
One must consider the risk, you say, and switch.
Please, Sir/Madame. I need the…humanity.
Let’s weigh that in, shall we?  But, can you make yourself smaller?
Mask on.
Mask off.
Mask on. 
Mask off. 
Calm like humidity simmering, I wait. A book slams shut.
This is how democracy works, you say, the process is paramount.
Two young teachers swathed in velvet robes begin to float and I gasp.
We mustn’t discourage them, say!  But, what of the children?
Mask on. 
Mask off.
Mask on. 
Mask off. 
With a flip of my wrist, my seminal book appears. Piss off, I say.
Follow me, just the eyes! With all due respect, Sir/Madam—
But the book vanishes and I know we are both left in Oblivion grey.
Mask on.
Mask off.
Mask on. 
Mask off. 
A rain storm gathers outside the tall window overlooking the city—
The curtain drops, leaving several white pages dating back to 1996 on the table. 
Mask on.
Mask off.
Back on the street, the black cape falls into a puddle the size of a moat. 
Mask off.

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