The Five Wishes of Mr. Murray McBride by Joe Siple EPUB & PDF

The Five Wishes of Mr. Murray McBride by Joe Siple EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online

• Status: Available for Free Download
• Authors: Joe Siple
• Language: English
• Genre: Coming of Age Fiction
• Format: PDF / EPUB
• Size: 2 MB
• Price: Free

JFK Center for the Performing Arts
Washington D.C.
Any magician worth his salt will tell you—there’s fake magic, and then
there’s the real thing.
The fake is how we make our living. It’s the magic the audience pays to
see, knowing full well it’s nothing but illusion and slight-of-hand. We make
hundred-dollar bills disappear. We levitate our assistants. Sometimes we cut
an audience member in half and miraculously put her back together.
But the real stuff, actual magic, a lot of magicians don’t believe in
anymore. They think they’ve discovered all the secrets and learned all the
tricks.

Not me. I’ve seen magic in my life. The real stuff. I know it exists.
“Prospero, you’re on in fifteen minutes!”
It’s the man who’s been attached at my hip these past few days. His name
is Miles, although he refers to himself exclusively as “Prospero’s
Biographer.” I’ve argued a man of thirty is too young to warrant a
biographer, but Miles simply hobbles along beside me with his hobbit-stride
and half-dozen chins, insisting he’s the luckiest man on earth to “have access
to the greatest magician in history.”
It’s not true, of course. The “greatest magician” part. Not when there have
been performers like David Copperfield and Criss Angel. And has Miles
never heard of a guy named Houdini?

“Please, we’ve talked about this,” I say to Miles. “Call me Jason.
Prospero is just for the stage.” His lips turn down so low they fold into his top
chin. We both know he’ll never call me anything but Prospero. “Forget it,” I
say. “Fifteen minutes?” I scan the backstage area. Several people bustle
around—one rolls a thousand-gallon tank of water from which I’ll
inexplicably escape despite three-inch-thick chains…another prepares a
series of mirrors, angling them until the woman in front disappears from
view. I know I should finish preparations, but tonight the thought terrifies me.
“I can make time for a quick question or two,” I say, stalling.

He slaps a stubby hand to each of his pockets—his sport coat, his pants,
and finally his front shirt-pocket, from which he removes an audio recorder.
He bumps the curtain with a stray elbow, sending dust into the air and onto
my newly-dry-cleaned tuxedo. I rub my nose and stifle a sneeze.
Miles presses a button and the machine makes the same beep I’ve heard
nonstop for the past three days. He adopts a voice reminiscent of a newsman
and forces his heavy black eyebrows together.

“According to the magician
himself, it’s the biggest night of his life, less than fifteen minutes before he
appears onstage in a puff of smoke. Prospero, Master of the Impossible, the
greatest illusionist in history, turns to me and says…”
I put my hand over the recorder and angle my lips away. “Please,” I say.
“Nothing contrived. Tonight is too important.”
The crowd continues to file in. Anticipation is building like the arc of a
magic trick.

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