Laissez faire

The clock ticked, closing to the roman numeral "VI", 6. He was anxious for a treat, and truthfully, he was already famished. Clinching on to the ends of his consciousness, he reached into his pocket only to find a ring and $2.65; a dollar, 5 quarters, 3 dimes, and 2 nickels. The coins were never as warm as before.

The clock struck 9 and he was on the streets again. And now he was in an alley, and by him was a bonfire made by a few other vagrants. He is homeless, and all he had were these companions. The few coins he had, he spent on a little piece of cake that look so absolutely mouthwatering, and beautifully crafted, such a luxury it was.

He cuddled and hugged himself, while lying on a cardboard. Thoughts flew by as he recalls little parts of his memory. He was a victim of the Great Depression. He is homeless, without any family, and a beggar. All fault fell on him, he lost everything in a night.

***

He held on tightly a crowbar, and slowly pried off the lock that stood between him and that little fortune. The door opened, and in defiance, he struck that Rottweiler that impeded him. Blood was spilled everywhere, but none of his own. The splatter stained the walls and its body was left aside, as he proceeded into the kitchen.

It was dark and only the moonlight illuminated the area. Picking up a glass, and drinking off the tap. Bickering was heard. It would seem as though he had come at the wrong time. Then silence, and a sharp sound of shattering of glass was heard. Quickly, he crept towards a corner, while being wary of the silence, "Did they realise my presence?".

However strong the urge to run, the waning lust for gold, he pressed on, for his curiosity won upon his desires. And all he saw when he peer through that little opening, was shocking. Stunned as he ran for the door, all that anxiety was no longer there, though as it was, he felt, nothing, but freedom.

***

The cold morning breeze greeted him as he stood awoken, and he slowly headed onto the path towards that little house. That little motionless body was no longer there. The blood stains were no more there. Instead, the house that he saw was wrecked, of what it was, it now is not. As he walked through that little frame which had a door, he could see the glass that laid still on sink, of which he had placed on that night, and before him, was a corpse with a ring.

The Illusionist

So it was, I stood on the stage, where a mammoth crowd lay wide before me. The very cheer, a cacophony of sounds, the myriad of colours bedazzled me. I was mused. "I speak here on this very day, to give you one last speech", spoken in all my might.

"It may be the very last but I knew that, all in all, I have owed my achievements, through all your efforts, to give me what I am today. At the very least, I shall say thanks first, to everyone." The crowd cheered, roared with such enthusiasm, and I was enlightened that even the littlest of a flame could be rekindled, so easily.

***

His speech full of glory and passion, and finally he gives last note of appreciation to those most important to him. Slowly he tread towards the steps where he headed to the dressing room. His figure was slouching, unlike that of an authoritarian that he once had. The steps grew heavier. He was heaving, panting, and then he collapsed. Towards that room, he was brought into, and an ambulance was called upon. He had live a long full life.

***

The light was so bright, blinding me, and its warmth wrapped around me. I felt like a baby once more, and I cuddled, to an eternity, of sleep. At the end of my view, a figure slipped by, and my eyes opened, pinned upon the sky, which was spans an infinity of whiteness. I was no longer dozing off, but stood in disbelieve of what my very eyes had set upon.

***

He picked up his pace, and walked towards me. I could see his youth and vigor, and he looked upon me with all the curiosity, of a child. And then he was before me. He mumbled an indiscernible form of speech of which, I soon found out to be a greeting. He examined me, as I did of him. He was a young boy of approximately 6 years of age, a stout figure, light brown hair, and had some freckles. He was wearing a nice little sweater, along with a pair of jeans. He concentrated on the suitcase I brought, curious, and soon, I was dragged along by him.

***

He looked very much like Papa, and the indescribable euphoria at the moment enveloped me, and I was on cloud nine. I tried to bring him to my house to Mama, but he wouldn't budge. I soon took his hand and dragged him again. He gave in and a smile was etched onto my face.

Soon, we were in front of the door of my house, which was not locked, and I entered dragging Papa along. I made him sit on the sofa, in our cosy little living room, while I went to look for Mama.

***

As I gazed by all the little pictures that were on display, I couldn't help but notice the familiarity that I am experiencing. I felt no longer lost, and the man in the picture, resembled someone I know. He was one of those faces, which you can't forget, yet I am unable to recall. He was, a great man. "Mama, mama" and the little boy was back into the living room. "I can't find Mama." I told him I had to go and he reluctantly let me leave.

I slowly walked out along the path, as I bumped into a lady. Fair she was, and in all her grace, she was the most beautiful woman I've met. My head ached, as the recollection of memories, slowly flood into me, she was someone, someone I knew. But who? who? For a moment later, all I felt, was numbness.

***

Mama reached for me, and off the far side of my vision, I could see Papa clenching his head in pain. A loud hit, a car skid, and I saw Papa on the street. I rushed, teary eyes, towards him. He laid in a pool of blood, as I hear him say, "Mother, I'm finally back."

***

I was in a ward, white surrounded me and I couldn't help it but have this little tinge to give everyone a hug. Many were a good people who came to visit me, and I was glad. I had not felt so much better as I looked into the photos that were in this house of mine, as I see the one that was my Father, for he was, a great man.

And so I dozed off again, into my long sleep, seeking for an eternity of peace and serenity, of the dream I once had, of an illusionist.