Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26444017-20191023053921

Disclaimer: I am typing this on a phone. There may be spelling and punctuation errors. Please feel free to point these out, along with any other thoughts or criticisms.

"Now, for my final act, a classic trick. I will need a lovely volunteer from the audience." I scan the crowd, searching for the perfect person. "Ah, how about you, madam?" I point to a woman sitting in the back, the spotlight following my direction. She seems surprised and reluctant. Her dress is form -fitting, her jewelry shines in the light. Her hair is styled prim and proper, her make-up obscures all impurities. But it's a classic case of 'all dressed up with nowhere to go and no one to go with'. She hesitantly stands from her seat at an empty table. She thinks this will be the highlight of her night out alone.

It's been a short show, just approaching the fifteen minute mark. She makes her way to the stage as my assistant wheels out a long box with a split down the middle. The audience shifts as they all know the trick. Some are probably wondering if this volunteer is part of the act. None seem to notice the strange proportions of the container, or how dilated my assistant's pupils are.

I usher her backstage, hand on her back, before anyone sees. "Thank you very much, Elizabeth. Now, my dear..." I continue, turning to face my new help, "what might your name be?"

"M-Margaret." she replies, obviously uncomfortable standing before a crowd.

"Margaret." I say with the illusion of interest, "Lovely name. E-erm, you wouldn't happen to suffer from stage fright, would you?" Margaret nods in return, her cheeks flushed and her hands clasped together at her chest. "Well, fear not. This trick is perfect for those who don't like being watched. Come around here, won't you."

I lead Margaret around behind the box, clicking open the dozen or so latches holding it closed. As I heave open the lid, I notice the confusion on her face. Maybe she's questioning all the padding inside. Maybe she's wondering where the hole for her head is. I shoot her a reassuring smile and hold my hand out to help her. She suppresses whatever fears she has and climbs in.

"Yes, just like that. Slip your feet through these holes here." She follows my directions to the letter. "Now, don't you worry. Everything will be fine." A final assurance before I close the lid and lock it down.

Turning back to the spectators, I make my way to the head of the box where two enormous square blades rest. I take them from their posts and hold them up for the audience to see. With that, I give a quick raise of the eyebrows and a sly smile, as if to say 'You know what's coming next'. Wheeling the vessel back a bit, I hear a murmur among the crowd, the people whispering back and forth about the man with the box.

I run a thumb along the side of the edge one more time, carefully assessing its sharpness. Lining up the blades with the box's narrow slot, I take a final look up to the audience. "Watch closely, everyone." Silence falls.

And down go the blades.

There is a sudden shudder from inside. Through the lid, I hear the faintest sounds of sloshing blood, scraping bone, and a gasp of surprise. Her feet spasm for a moment, but then lay still and cold. Just barely does her ragged breathing escape the confines of her coffin, slipping past the soundproofing foam within. Shortly follows a near silent screaming, drowned out by applause as I roll the two halves apart from each other. The steel blades stand like dams to the rivers of blood pooling in the boxes. The spectacle has made them forget the end of the trick, in which the girl climbs back out.

"Thank you everyone. You've been a fantastic audience!" I take my bow as the curtain falls on my killer act. Rolling the boxes backstage, I turn to Elizabeth, who waits with a bottle of disinfectant, a roll of garbage bags, and two oil pans. "Do it quickly." I command, "I think there was a cop out there tonight." She nods, obediently and non-cognizant. Clearly ready for her next fix, she sets to work.

I retrieve my cell phone and start making calls, determining the venue for our next disappearing act. 