Poof
Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater
It was simple really.
When he was 5, his grandfather would make a quarter appear from his small ear. He'd ask what a child would ask after such a simple trick.
"Wow grandpa! How'd you do that?"
He received a pat on the head, a smile crossing his grandfather's face.
"A good magician does his research."
Now, he had been confused because he had asked that same question to other magicians after birthday parties and various events. Their answer was always the same, the tone even.
"A good magician never tells his secret."
He hoped his grandpa was a good magician because that's exactly what he did.
After the piano lessons, he'd sneak out to his grandparent's house and ask them if they could go to the library. He loved how they asked no questions and just went with it.
Thing was, he never did like studying. So it took many books to understand magic, or trickery he had soon come to call it.
At age 6, he had made quarters appear in his classmates' ear.
His parents had been called and talked to, complaints of disrupting the class with a magic trick. They didn't approve of this side of him, they wanted him to be a pianist. Nothing else.
He was grounded for a week. He studied another trick during that week.
Age 7, he made the salt shaker turn into a quarter with a tissue in front of his older brother.
"Whoa! That's so cool! How'd you learn that Soul?" There was true excitement shining in his eyes, making his younger brother's cheeks swell up with pride.
"A good magician does his research." He smirked.
Two weeks later, he found his brother reading a magic trick book he borrowed a year ago.
His older brother, Wes, was the child their parents were always proud of. They both looked the same. Same white hair, same red eyes. It was probably the teeth. His older brother had normal teeth. Maybe even the fact that Wes excelled at everything, and he means everything.
So when he saw him reading a magic book, he was angry.
Funny how Mr. Perfect studied for a week and didn't understand a thing while his younger brother learned 3 tricks during that same week.
"I'm giving up magic, I'm not as good as you." His brother said, passing a quarter to him.
"Oh..." Was all he said as he smiled and danced in his head.
A coloring book had been colored right in front of his classmates eyes without him using any coloring materials at all when he was 8.
By the age of 9, he had learned simple card tricks. He knew what card people had picked and where it was when it was put back into the deck
At 10, he pulled millions of handkerchiefs from the space of his sleeves.
When he was 11, he wooed girls by bending a metal spoon that even the jocks couldn't bend.
He had bought a magician's hat and brought it to school when he was 12. The females gave out loud 'aw's when he pulled a fluffy white bunny named Henry out of the hat.
He had learned how to use smoke bombs to make him disappear from school at 13.
When he turned 14, his grandfather became sick.
"What do you want to do when you grow up?" The elder asked when he was in the hospital one day.
He really didn't know. He had gone with the flow of life, hoping his parents would guide him like they always had.
Then he realized that his parents barely paid attention to him, they didn't care what he did as long as he went to piano lessons.
"I dunno grandpa..." He sighed, leaning back into the hospital chair next to his bed.
"Remember back when you started?"
Of course he had. "Sorta."
His grandfather rolled his eyes with a 'huff'. "My boy, pursuing one dream doesn't mean you have to give up the other."
"It usually does."
"Not for a magician, Soul. Never for a magician."
He remembered those words for years, locking them into the darkest depths of his mind.
Because those were the last words to him before he had been ushered out of the room. It was what echoed in his mind as he watched everyone in the room mourn for the man, the only sound he heard when the priest blessed his grandfather, when his parents and brother left him alone with his grandparents.
It was what his grandmother repeated with caring eyes.
He cried and stared at the ceiling for hours because of those words.
Those words were his highest motivation, those words were the reason he pursued his dream.
They were the words that got him to be what he was now.
Black and white.
A pianist.
A magician.
I'm a terrible person, I know.
I shouldn't be starting another series but I can't help it. I met a magician and yeah.
This happened.
Well, review if you aren't going to kill me.
Until next time!
-That Person