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Bullets to Butterflies
Mark Joseph Kevlock
316 West Main Street
Nanticoke PA 18634
Bullets to Butterflies
"I'm here to turn your life into a fairy tale," Anna Taz explained.
Frank Gibson reared back to slap her.
"Why in the gosh-darn world would I want that?" he said.
Already it had begun!
Gibson didn't entirely understand her sorceress power, and didn't want to.
"I don't believe in angels," he said.
"I'm not an angel," Anna Taz explained. She whisked off her top hat and threw it in the air. The hat stuck to the ceiling, and the whole room turned upside down.
"I'm a magician," she concluded her display.
All of the loose change fell, out of Gibson's pockets.
"Make my ex-wife drop dead," Gibson made a wish.
"I'm not a genie," Anna Taz further instructed. "And I'm no contract-killer, either."
Gibson took in his surroundings, for the first time: an auditorium. He stood in the center of its empty stage.
"How the heck did I end up, in such an awful fix?" Gibson asked the sorceress.
There -- it happened again!
He tried to curse, but it came out 1950s TV dialogue.
"Everyday, I pick a mean person," Anna Taz stated her raison d'être, "and show them the magic of the world."
"Golly gee, what for?"
Gibson tried to pull out his tongue. It wouldn't budge.
"The world needs fewer mean people," Anna Taz answered. "Magic changes them, for the good."
Gibson usually carried a gun, just in case. He drew his weapon, upon Anna Taz. She smiled, delightfully.
"If you fire that thing, only butterflies will come out."
"I'll take my chances," the tough guy said.
He pulled the trigger.
A spray of butterflies exploded from the barrel.
"Why are you torturing me?" Gibson demanded.
Anna Taz spun her wand, idly in her hand, as if warming it up, to concoct a miracle.
"Would you like to be a prince?" she inquired.
Gibson chalked it up to a pastrami nightmare, and chose to ride along.
"Sure," he said.
A storybook came alive, all about him. The stage and auditorium vanished, replaced by a riding horse, galloping through a meadow, Gibson astride.
Soon, he would lose himself, entirely. He couldn't even remember, anymore, who he was scheduled to beat up today.
"Sir Frank!" a maiden called to him, from somewhere off-stage. She sounded like Anna.
Gibson cried out: "What gives you the right, to do this to me?"
"Maybe you never were a gangster, after all," a voice said, on the wind. "Maybe you were a prince, and nothing else."
Sir Frank didn't mind being a prince. He rode off, upon his adventure.
And the world grew not at all diminished, by the loss of yet another mean person.
dandrew72 - Love it!
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