Sword in the Box

A man, a magician, tall, slouched, magnificent looking into a crowd of clueless volunteers, victims. Peering, darting mincingly through every row he pointed dead at me

as if every red velvet seat were empty I was alone.

Walking up on stage, the lights burn my skin, it stings; the steps are steeply and I am struggling to climb, out of breath. I see a cliche, a fake Houdini. Blacktop hat, black jacket, white undershirt; seven gold buttons, red sash, and a magic wand.

As I walked up, he asked for my name I stared unknowing what was in store. He turned to the audience revealing his act. I was to go into an enormous cedar box and he would then impale swords into it from the outside.

The box was summoned from the ceiling; it slowly dropped down from four long, thick, black vine-like cables set on a faded platform with five steps, I am told to "please step in. It's alright." Reassured, I go willingly.

Once inside, I see and hear nothing. Silent darkness.I hear a thud, there is silence again. I feel something pinching my back, like a Hercules beetle grabbing a snack, it stabs me, a sharp blade, I feel the blood, I smell blood.

Next, I feel the same pain in my leg just above the knee; it hurts in a way that made me wish I were someplace else; this was a dream, but it was real.

I keep hearing thuds, one after another. Piecing steel shaves my skin cuts my bones. It is pure anguish. I wondered if the audience heard my blood-curdling screams, and why they would let it happen?

Then I heard whispers of my paranoia: "they can't hear you.","no one sees your pain", "they don't know your pain. The ripping of your flesh and bone is ignored like a fly in your ear." The whispers stop with a rattling noise. I see a bright ivory line.

I come out clean. No pain, no blood, only glorious applause. No one sees what happens behind the scenes. It is a magic act.