curtain. There is a great concentration going on, a concentration of energies. perspiring ever so slightly, as his task grows ever more difficult, he prepares to cast his net over the entire world, and draw their flailing souls from safety.
As silence emanates off of the audience, he steps out. The illusionist needs only an audience of one - the first domino, pivotal in spreading his mirage. His fingers begin their dance, first moving slowly, and then blurring over the keyboard, covering an exposed truth in a veil of confusion. Each word like the stroke of an axe, hewing down the old trunk of wisdom… WHACK.. the researchers fall. WHACK.. the doctors follow. WHACK.. the politicians and world leaders are felled. WHACK.. the whole forrest has been brought to ground.
But.. the seedlings grow again. An axe can’t reach the deep root system that flourishes under the ground.. and truth bubbles up from the rubble to show its face to the sun.
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In this short story, the ‘illusionist’ represents the lobby of big c*nd*m. They have hoodwinked everyone, so deeply that they don’t even need to try anymore, they disappeared back into the shadows, and now other people (doctors) do their work for them. THINK.
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