Flash Fiction Competition 2023. (Edited) Prompts: Fantasy, Night Club, Milk
"Whirlin' Merlin" took a sip from the small bottle. He held his hand up to the sky and spoke in the steady voice that paced his usual slight-of-hand:
“For my finale I will reach up, into the Milky Way, bring back ten thousand stars in the palm of my hand and free them in this room. From my open palm, a river of genuine stardust will flow, and everyone here will be bathed in the supreme holiness of its eternal glow.”
The light show that unfolded was said to be like nothing ever seen before on earth. The audience experienced a profound sense of well-being. Their skin sparkled for days. In the weeks that followed, crowds lined up to feel the spectacle but quickly dwindled when the majestic effect was never recreated.
Audience members now topped out around a half-dozen each night. Most were strays from the casinos seeking a dark corner in which to doze and drown big losses in cheap booze. Every so often some kid, obsessed with showbiz lore, fell into the club wide-eyed and sober to see the great routine. Inevitably, they left disillusioned to discover Merlin’s famous finale was nothing more than a black-light theatre gimmick. Merlin knew those kids had heard about that night--the only night he had dared to use true magic on stage.
Showbiz lore was as wildly romanticised as origin stories bandied about an orphanage. The children Merlin had grown up with told tales that merged into one, common fantasy—a mistake had been made and the most loving of parents would return for each of them in due time. More likely, the Mother Superior would call them to her office as they came of age and send them into the “real” world with a blessing and the clothes on their backs. Merlin’s last visit with her was different. His mother had left him something—the tiny bottle and a note in the cryptic figures of a language only half his own.
Merlin hobbled to his office. Crystal decanters from decades before dotted his bar. He splashed a blue liquid from one together with a thick apricot syrup from another. He stared at the mixture as he swirled it in his glass, enchanting himself into a final decision. Flattening his hand against the wall, he felt for the thin gap in the greasy burgundy paper. Finding it, he knocked twice and muttered an oath. A portion of the wall retreated. Inside was the smallest decanter of all with a slim band of liquid at the bottom. Merlin made sure it was sealed and slipped it into a tight pocket. He took his sequinned littered topcoat from the hook on the back of the door and set about making his reflection in the mirror look just right.
Merlin stood in the wings, waiting for his cue. When he arrived centre stage, he held his breath, lifted the small bottle and took in the last drops of milk his mother had left with him as an infant. He swallowed slowly and began to speak:
“For my finale ... "
The crowd was held rapt by Merlin’s cosmic light show.
A familiar voice spoke his real name, and the Mesmer disintegrated amidst stardust.
