New Times, Old Feelings
He hasn't felt this cold in ages, it is a familiar feeling as he walks, with a not that frozen smile; he is walking into his hometown, a place, literally, frozen in time. Winter is practically the only season there is on here, strangely enough, he finds it heartwarming. An illusionist that keeps playing roses that never die, and with a pocket without a watch; sadness is his company on each of his travels, but this time, oh this time is a special one, because he is here to unbury his past, the story of how he became the Sad Illusionist.
As he enters into the alley he knows already that he was not the only one that changed along the way, the place has the taste of sadness latent within the town. Few know that the sadder the town, the stronger he feels, obviously the Illusionist has never fancied the feeling of strength at the cost of smiles. The decision of doing something about it is clear in his head and heart, but first, first he has to stripe himself of his own sadness; you should always start by yourself.
The house is not particularly away from where he is, but the feet are not moving, the movement is impaired not by the fear, he isn't moving because he had forgotten, he had forgotten how beautiful the snow could be. The snowflakes falling in his coat, all over it, in the neck and in the tail of it, somehow, the whiter he has, the warmer he felt. The Illusionist started to walk towards the house and on the way; he found a kid and his dad trembling in the snow, down the merciless feeling of lack of hope. He though "I won't need this anyway" he took off his coat and covered with it the lonely son and dad, they were sleeping so they would never know, it is better this way yet he cheers himself when the sound of metal in the pocket sounds, "They need it more than me".
The imposing building stands in front of him, all covered in the white he always loved. Slowly walks to the door and knocks it, though he knows no one will probably answer, then opens the door and whispers "Hello, I am home." The first step is always the hardest one, isn't it? Walking inside where he learnt to do a trick, the one that began everything, watching old photographs, and looking straight to the back door. He wants to go in there, but he lacks of the key, so the study it is. The Illusionist goes up stairs looking at each door, each one opens a new world of illusions, yet without the original caster the illusions have proper life, he likes to avoid what is not needed in that home. Before the study there is a small room, where he can smell a scent, a lily that has been there for ages. The illusionist enters to his childhood room an looks at the last presents he got from his tutor, a lily that even beyond the dead of the first is still alive, the image of it still makes the man a little nostalgic, the hopes that never died, that was the last act. He looks at his first illusion, a toy horse he animated to appear alive, and a lot of time has passed from that illusion.
The study is too full of memories of his past, but he enjoys remembering, he knows where the keys are yet he takes a moment to look at the books and desk. He takes the book to which he learnt to be an illusionist or at least the starts of being one. An old and small tome yet when he had it, in his very hands when he was a child, it seemed so big and imposing, a tome of hope, a way of being alive. He laughs to himself while putting the book in its place, then finally he looks into the desk of his master when suddenly something catches his eye, in the seat of the desk there it is; the old trench coat that his master used in almost all of his presentations. The illusionist remembered old times and though of how big that same trench coat seemed, but now it looked like, like an equal. He took it and wore it, it fitted perfectly and the illusionist felt something in the pocket, to what he answered "Is that a penny on my pocket or am I just happy to see me?" He remember once again and couldn't help but burst into laughter, the old and cute jokes his teacher used to say gave him such calm back in childhood times. The keys where in the pocket so he rushed to down stairs, the illusionist did not look back, if he had; he had seen that the once black and white hall and rooms were starting to catch color again.
He faced the door of the yard and though, "I wish this could last forever, that this feeling of unique expectation was the last moment I could remember and do, but that is asking too much, too much to the world, this was perfect while it last yet it can only get better." His wrist turned and the door was finally open. He walked slowly, slowly reaching out for the tree in the farthest corner of the yard, the only tree which leafs would never fall, he arrived down its shadow and gently fell in his knees, and then he said "Hello." Sadly a tombstone cannot answer. The snowflakes started to land in his shoulders, he took off his gloves and touched the stone, wrote the engraved words with the tip of his fingers and then felt the land where it was stabbed. The land felt so soft and warm, the smell of grass started to arise in the ambient, he felt it while it was growing again. The illusionist stood up and turned around, he looked at the house, it was alive again, and he was definitely in home.
He rushed to go out and finish what his master had started, he knew the way like the palm of his hand, the illusionist ran this same road for the first time when he was about to die, thanks to the cold that he did not seem to handle in the old times. The trench coat made him feel secure, so secure and happy; the door was just there waiting for him to open it with his back because using the hands takes time. Like an old glove that you once loved it just fitted the door opened in a second, he stopped to look at the stage, at the lonesome chair in the middle; he smiled. The Illusionist ran while taking off the coat, when he reached beside the chair he laid the coat in the back of the chair and sat in it. The hands where in his legs, he raised them and said, "Come on now, the show is about to begin, give me your sadness and sorrows and with them allow me to cheer your hearts, once again a Sad Illusionist is willing to make you smile, a bad memory for a smile; fair trade, that is our policy, shake those frowns, hug your love one because here I come now!" He stood up and raising his left arm like offering his arm to the audience a fountain of red roses came out of his palm, "Here I come to give you dreams and hopes!"
and then the cheering, colors came back, smiles flourished; the snow didn't seem cold anymore. New times and old feelings, the feeling that things finally are working out, the feeling that says to you there is something to wait, that feeling of hope.
The Illusionist smiles once more. His heart glows with happiness.
Let the show begin.