The Accident

  The red curtains pulled away from Saul, leaving him bathed in light and applause.  For a split second he was all there ever was.  He was a single organism, a mass of everything into one, giant being.  He was everything.  As soon as it had started, it was over, leaving Saul refreshed.
    “Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to Magic.  A world very different from the one you used to know, wilder, more exciting.  But dangerous to, as all of these tasks are very real and can be fatal to perform.”  He stopped his dialogue as to let his speech gain full effect on the audience.  He let a small smirk sneak onto his face, the feeling of complete control an addicting one.  Saul did his prelude tricks, the small ones that built up to the final, the trick that would be a monument to Saul Andres: The Greatest Magician Ever. 
    “Now if you will see Sir, your pocket watch is still in your pocket.  Never lose track of time, for once it’s lost, it can never be returned.” The man nodded, smiling and holding up his watch for the audience to see.  Saul couldn’t contain his excitement; fore what came next was the grand final.
    “Now I know no one here is a stranger to death.  It haunts our dreams, steals our loved ones, and keeps us on our toes.  But what if I told you I had found a way to cheat death, to pull the hood over Hates himself?”  The crowd didn’t breath; they had never seen anything like this.  Saul took a slow, deliberate look around the room, watching as the crowd stared back in wide-eyed-wonder.
    “I shall perform three feats of death, tasks that no man could survive.  But I challenge you that I shall survive all three, not a scratch on me.”  Saul stopped and walked to stage right, holding out his arm to show the audience a tank of water, just wider than a man and slightly taller.
    “I shall be dropped, tied, into this tank of water, which will be locked with a pad lock.  I will have but 30 seconds to free myself and escape complete dome.”  Without another word, Saul stood as two men tied a rope around his hands and feet.  Slowly Saul was lifted off his feet, swaying in the pin-drop silence of the theatre.  His face remained emotionless, as if carved out of stone.  Inside, he was laughing, a deep joyful laugh, for he was about to make history. 
    Suddenly the rope snapped, sending Saul into the icy water of the tank.  A circle of dark red curtains raised around him, blocking the audience from any view of the tank.  Men held out their pocket watches for the person beside them, all perilously counting down from 30 seconds.  Finally everyone looked up, knowing it was time.  The curtains fell, showing nothing but an empty tank and rope floating inside.  A gasp rose from the crowd people standing, trying to get a good look.
    “Well were did he go?” a familiar voice shouted from somewhere in the back. Everyone craned their heads to watch as Saul stood up from somewhere in the sea of the back seats and started walking valiantly down the middle isle, people feeling his clothes and finding them dry. He jumped up on stage, turned and bowed, letting the applause echo from wall to wall.  The feeling of arrogance was new to Saul, a drug of sorts, spreading like wildfire through his veins.  It coursed through his veins, a substance of the worst kind.  For even the strongest man feels it, and feels it only because of his strength.  When Saul looked out into the sea of cheering faces he knew, knew that he was closer than before to that single playing card.  He unconsciously laid his hand on his chest, feeling for the thin paper that lied in his pocket, the single playing card.
    “Thank you,” he bellowed, putting up his hands to quiet the cheering.  “That was only the first of three and believe me; they get better as they go.”  On cue, six men wheeled out a giant weight, pyramid shaped and about as wide as three men, and tall as a man. 
    “Will any man come up and acknowledge the genuine of this task?” Saul picked out five men who all came on stage and felt the weight, tried lifting it.  They all agreed the weight was real, and told the audience such.  The other men then tied three chains to a metal lop at the top, fastening it as tight as could go.  They waved their arms and the weight started cranking up into the air, until it was just above a man’s height.  Saul ducked back stage during this, finding Marcus waiting for him. 
    “Nice job on the water, but next time don’t shout some bull shit,” said Marcus, “just walk up and impress without words.”  Saul nodded begrudged, letting Marcus straighten his bow tie.  “Know did you check the trap door?”
    “I already have and it’s fine,” said Saul tiredly.  He could hear the audience cheering for his return, and he longed to get back on stage as he never had before.  He hadn’t checked the trap door but knew tonight was his night; nothing could keep Saul Andres down.  Marcus looked on in puzzlement, for a new expression sat upon Saul’s face, one Marcus had prayed would never appear.  Without another word, Saul strode back out on stage, once again bowing to the mass. 
    “For my next dup of death I shall have this weight dropped on top of me, once again prevailing over the Grim Reaper himself.”  Without a farewell he stepped under the weight, fear powerless against Saul’s confidence.  The weight swayed methodically, a method to the means of a bloody end.  But not for Saul. 
    “If everyone would please indulge me in a count down, starting at three,” he said holding up three fingers.  The audience counted as one voice, voices high with anticipation.  As the audience rounded number two, Saul tapped his left foot, waiting to feel the trap door click, signaling it was engaged. 
    But it never did.
    Saul tapped his foot again, panic starting to blare at all Saul’s senses.  Why hadn’t he checked the door like Marcus had said?  He turned and looked toward his manager, his friend, his hope.  Marcus didn’t look startled, but looked right at Saul, his knowing gaze piercing Saul’s very soul.  The crowd shouted the last number, all looking on, unaware of the real danger that lay ahead.  Eyes closed, Saul heard the click of his death, the resounding signal that the weight was going to drop.  Every significant moment flashed through Saul’s head, bits of light and sound appearing as they disappeared. 
    Saul’s eyes shot open when he felt the shudder of release, the flashing of lights which were meant to hide Saul’s duck into a trap door.  There would be no hiding today.  Saul felt pressure, and then was flying sideways through the air.  He hit the hard wood stage awkwardly, his arm snapping under his weight, sending tendrils of pain shooting into his already reeling thoughts. 
    It seemed like a lifetime before Saul could think straight again.  His arm was screaming in protest, and as he sat up he saw the carnage. 
    Not two feet in front of him stood the remains of Marcus Moore, the man who had sacrificed his own for Saul.  The weight lay fully on the ground, severing Marcus about high chest, blood splattered all over Saul’s shoes.  It all seemed like a dream, woman screaming, others running toward the stage.  But Saul’s eyes couldn’t move from the corpse that should have been his own, the man lying in his place.  He could feel hands trying to grab him away, pull him from the man that had been a second father to him.  He let out a scream of anguish, echoing through the chaotic theatre.  All the pain that Saul had ever felt starting leaking over the dam he had placed to stop, finally bursting until the wall was no more.  No man could have survived such pain and turmoil, and no man was meant to.  Saul just screamed a curse at the God who had seemed to forget his child, who had ruined Saul’s life more than once.  The pain starting coming in waves, each one greater than the last, sending Saul onto the brink of consciousness. 
    Then everything went black.