Disclaimer: Movie and whatnot is still not mine. Surprise, surprise!
Chapter 1: The Way of the Street Magician
Anastasia
oOo
Location: Delata, Florida, USA
City Population: 683
Current time: 1:30 pm, Eastern
Date: June 2, 2013
Current alias: Maggie Ray, street magician
Five years.
For five years I had been hiding and I hadn't been found. For five years, I had been wandering around the country on foot or on any bike I found lying around, abandoned.
I made money playing the piano in fancy hotels, taking song requests when people had them and playing whatever I wanted when nobody gave me anything.
I travelled by night, played piano or did cheap magic tricks by day, hopping from town to town just as quickly as any fugitive would. When I needed to sleep, I found the cheapest motel I could and spent the day tortured by images of being found, captured, tortured… I saw all the people I had killed, too. There was a reason this only occurred every forty-eight to seventy-two hours.
When I needed to eat, I'd find janitors uniforms from unguarded closets or storage rooms and pick the locks at the kitchens of Bed-and-Breakfasts (Day Inn, Embassy Suits, Marriott, Hampton Inn, etcetera, etcetera) mid-afternoon or late morning when the cooks were taking a smoke break. I took all of what food and travel-worthy drinks I could cram into the very same duffel from years ago without being caught and left the way I came, careful to evade the cameras or hold my hair up with a baseball cap.
And obviously I was doing pretty well-I hadn't been caught by any pedestrians or killed by any of them. Yet. And not that any of this was good for my health, but at least I'd stay hidden.
It was only when I was in one of those mom-and-pop-grocery-store-and-a-gas-station-or-two towns where I felt that I was safe, not being followed. It only here that I did magic. I'd go out to somewhere enough people passed by regularly to pull up a crowd, set out a blanket, put my things (most of them stolen) around the edges and perform.
Ever since I had skipped the city, I practiced magic whenever I was sure I was alone. I had gone from those tiny projections in my hand to being able to make a person believe that they were in the middle of the Amazon Rainforest. My skin was getting inked with darkened shades of any color imaginable every time I did, too. I'd do a few card tricks here and there, maybe some ball, cup, water tricks,… any kind of illusion or sleight-of-hand secret you could think of, I was sure to have tried it. It was much less risky than a big, moving image that would eventually end up on my back or my legs, arms, wrists, hands. But nothing gave me that feeling of true magic like making those pictures did.
After five years, I'd grown accustomed to this life. But to be honest, there were some days when I woke up in a cheap motel room, rats crawling around on the floor below me, that I wished I hadn't left.
But I could never go back. That was my past, and if the only way to make sure it didn't catch me up was to be on the run for the rest of my life, I would run. I would not return to that. I could not be that person. No. I would not.
Never again.
oOo
I spread out my blanket one day on the side of a gravel street, next to the town's only grocery store, a Winn-Dixie. I was reminded of the book, the one by Kate DiCamillo. And so I had my inspiration.
I pictured a young girl and a dog walking down the street through the pouring rain; I snapped my fingers and they appeared. This caught a few people's attention who were simply strolling through the blazing heat in that small-town, nonchalant way. The image was slightly transparent, and it was only raining over the girl and the dog, and it wasn't soaking the ground. I blew a little puff of air towards them, and the rain immediately changed into snow, the girl and the dog disappearing. More people had gathered around to watch, but only a few noticed that I was the one making it happen.
Continuing with my story theme, I cleared away the Illustrated snow (which was rapidly piling up on the ground in see-through heaps) and changed it to a small cottage in the woods, where a girl with black hair and a pale complexion wearing a blue, red and yellow dress leaned out one side, a bluebird landing on her outstretched finger. The Disney version of Snow White, of course, even thought eh Brother's Grimm version was better. A few little kids ran up to the image to try touch it, and they soon found themselves covered in untouchable falling leaves while clear butterflies flitted around in front of their laughing faces.
Well, that ink would be pretty bold and obvious, even against my tanning skin. I could already feel the ink beginning to form (left hip bone, this time), and I found I couldn't bring myself to care. I was glad they were all things I loved. I'd learned to do that after only a few tests with the trick: to only make things big if I didn't mind being stuck with them until I was old and wrinkled and couldn't find my way out of a rocking chair.
By now, most everyone walking by had figured out it was me and were looking between the image and where I sat, torn and tattered and bags under my eyes that could have passed as fanny packs. My creation stilled and faded, much to the children's disappointment. All the adults clapped while the kids ran up to me. I crouched down to one child's level when I felt a little hand tug on my sleeve.
"How are you today, little miss?" I asked warmly.
"That was so cool!" She bounced up and down, her sweat-dampened red hair flying all over the place as she clapped. "Are you magic?"
"Of course I am!" I laughed. "Would you like to see something else?" She nodded eagerly in response, grinning from ear to ear with a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eyes that only kids have. "Well, let's see. Can you tell me your name?"
"I'm Clara! What's your name?"
"My name's Maggie. And what's your favorite color?"
"Mine's pink."
"That always was my favorite, too," I lied excitedly. Kids are so easy. She smiled even harder, though I didn't think she could make it much wider at this point. "Well, Clara, I want you to take a look at my hand, and tell me what you see."
She took my (relatively) small hand in her own tiny one and looked it over on both sides. "It's empty."
"Really? Well, that's a shame. Let's fix that." I made a fist. "On the count of three, I want you to blow on my hand as hard as you can. Can you do that?" She nodded again, just like I had done when I was sixteen years old. All the adults were looking on fondly, amazed at how a rugged street magician who looked like she hadn't eaten in weeks could be so kind and caring to a small child. "Okay, here we go. One… two… three!"
Clara sucked in a breath and puffed on my fist until she had no more air left. "Did I do it right?" she asked, gasping.
"You did wonderfully! Now take my hand and open it up very slowly… that's it!" She did, but her expression only changed to a frown.
"It's still empty!"
"Huh, that's odd… I wonder where it could have gone… Wait, what's that up there?"
Floating up in the sky like a beacon was an enormous pink kite, dancing in a wind that was not blowing (more Illustration!). Printed on the pink fabric in great big white letters that glowed in the afternoon light, it read CLARA.
All the adults laughed while the children danced around and clapped happily. They all began shouting at once as I handed Clara a kite string from up my sleeve.
"Do mine! Do mine!" They were all shouting and tugging on my clothes, clambering past one another and trying to climb up onto me.
I laughed and leaned down a little towards them, then looked up at the adults. I was sure I had at least a hundred of them surrounding me by now. It was so many people… but nothing I couldn't handle.
"Alright, alright! Now, everybody start shouting out your names. But keep your eyes on the sky! Wouldn't want to miss anything, am I right?"
"OKAY," they all said at once, then began screaming their names. I heard them one or two at a time, making kites appear like stars in a clear, blue summer sky. Every time a new one appeared, a child would yell "HEY, LOOK! THERE'S MY KITE!" And they would suddenly find themselves holding the string, watching the kite fly against the blue. The favorite colors were easy—everyone knows that any little kid will wear their favorite color, especially on summer vacation.
Now, with each child holding a string and every last head turned to the clouds, I picked up my hat, which had collected quite a bit of cash already plopped it onto my head (of course making sure to inconspicuously slip all the change into my bag first) picked up an folded my blanket along familiar creases that stuck out like a sore thumb before setting it down inside my duffel.
"Gentlemen, ladies and children of all ages, I thank you for your time and charities. Have a lovely summer, everyone, and may we meet again."
With my free hand, I showered the ground in a blue smoke (thank you smoke-bombs), creating a plume that cleared away within the next fifteen seconds. It took me eight of those to scramble over to the pole I had been leaning against, shimmy me and my bag up the thing and roll onto the roof of the Winn-Dixie. The smoke cleared and I heard "ooh"s and "aah"s and "where did she go?"s, but I didn't turn back, not even for a second as I padded softly along the rooftop, black bag banging against my side in a way that I didn't even notice after all this time.
Then…
The voice seemed to be that of a ghost, it spoke so softly. But however soft it was, I heard him say it and I knew I wasn't getting away from it.
"You've done well, Anastasia, but you could do better. It's time we met again, face to face, don't you think?"