It is December 24, 1926 and brilliant lights of emerald and gold cast a faint hue on the skins of the performers. The magician’s second hand suit was becoming far too large for him as he progressively lost more and more weight, the white lights of the mirror projected onto his blanched skin, making it seem even paler as the urge to vomit increased. He stood, nerves running a thousand miles an hour as he ran through the routine once again in his mind. The venue owner’s words echoed in his thoughts;
“One last chance before you are out, boy!”
He couldn’t make another slip up like last time; one more failure and he would be on the streets, unable to pay for his medications. The magician had been suffering from frequent dizzy spells and extreme nausea for the past three months and his doctor told him that if he did not get the money for his treatment soon, it could become more severe. The last thing he needed was to get sick during a show; stumbling into the tiger cage by mistake or vomiting on his beautiful assistant while sawing her in half. He took a deep breath; okay, he could do this.
The bit was simple: extravagant introduction, rabbit out of a hat, a few card tricks, saw a woman in half, and the finale- the box of swords. Easy, simple tricks any amateur could perform with practice, and he was no amateur. He only chose these basic tricks because of his health since he wasn’t strong enough to push himself too hard. He breathed deeply to level his heart rate as he dragged the charcoal pencil around his eyes to bring life back into them. With one last glance into the grimy mirror, his heavily powdered and painted face staring back at him, he passed through the thick velvet curtains onto the stage.
Bright lights blinded him as he looked out into the sea of blurry faces. Fear pounded in his chest, not for his craft but for what might come if something goes wrong tonight. He waved and smiled at the roaring audience as if he had not been vomiting blood about ten minutes ago. The magician stepped into the burning spotlight and began to mindlessly run through his routine, every hand gesture calculated and perfected as instinct and memory took over everything else.
The night went fairly smoothly; with only a slight stumble here and there. The rabbit appeared unscathed, his sleight of hand deceived all, and the woman was put together again as if nothing happened. Every trick and trap went just as planned, no injuries occurred other than minor paper cuts and pinched fingers. It was all fine, until it wasn’t. As he reached the final spectacle, a severe bout of nausea hit him. Oh no. Not now that he was so close to redeeming himself. He pushed through the pit in his gut, smiling and continuing as if nothing was wrong (hoping the audience wouldn’t notice the tremor in his fingers).
The tall, brass wardrobe style box was wheeled out along with a wooden crate full of sharp swords. The closet was positioned just so that the trap door in the back was concealed. All he had to do was step inside and slip out the back before the sharp swords pierced through the box.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, my final trick; this is no illusion, just pure magic.” His voice wavered slightly as white spots appeared in front of his eyes.
He stepped inside the dark cupboard and the front doors were locked behind him. Taking a deep breath, he felt along the back wall for the seam of the trap door. He ran a finger along it, his nail slipping between the space in the wood; the tip of the first sword was placed in the slot near his throat, the little bit of light the slots provided reduced even more. The drum roll began, might as well start with a bang. Another deep breath, and as he prepared to duck out of the room at the last second a crippling fit of dizziness struck him. The magician leaned forward and braced his hands of the door to stay upright, spots danced in front of his eyes and sweat dripped down his nose.
A deep breath in and- the sword lunged forward with extreme force, piercing through skin, skull, brain. Breathe out, silence. Blood dripped, then poured down his forehead and pooled on the floor. Leaking red out of his eyes and mouth, it spilled under the door, running along the wooden stage before dripping over the edge. Panic erupted. Screaming women and children as a stagehand called the hospital. The theatre was evacuated and the press was ushered away.
After thirty minutes of attempting to pry the door open, as the body was pressed against the locked door, the scent of iron heavy in the air. Finally it popped open, dragging the still attached corpse with it. The blade jammed straight through the middle of his forehead and sticking out the back of his skull. The body was limp, slouched but still held up by the steel forced deep through the flesh.
The split faced magician was eventually detached from the door and loaded into a stretcher to be taken to the morgue. His glazed, bloody eyes reflected the emerald lights and the blood appears black in the poor lighting. His skull split horizontally, skin pale, and lips tinted red with his own blood. The theatre owner watched as the body was covered with a sheet, immediately staining crimson red, and carried out. He sat on the steps of the theatre, he had always known this place would make the headlines, but not like this.
__________________________________________________________________
GIF from the film Now You See Me, found on Tumblr.