Drew's Wonderful Magnificent Emporimorium
Lies. All lies.

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Magic At night in a darkened bedroom lit only by the yellow street lamp that reflected off the grey sidding of the neighboring house he cupped his hands together. Before, he held aloft his right and looked at the silhouette of light that outlined his hand, his hand the black crystal ball. He had peered into his hand, eyes focused beyond and saw visions -- pictures he didn't know even existed. Rigid lines, acute angles, triangles meshing to form a train, and then a room. The vision, yellow in color like an old photograph fascinated him. It faded quickly. He tried not to blink but his eyes burned as if congested with cigarette smoke -- unlike the pleasing burn of pot. So now, both hands cupped together they form an area, circular, spherical in imagination. He thinks perhaps he can see the future or an unrecalled past. He gazes intently as his eyes focus farther, farther, until everything goes black. Blink. The sphere returns. He can see lines, lines lines lines but he wants to see a face. What face, he asks. He does not know. Only, the face is the answer. He sighs. The black crystal ball shatters as his hands part and he is left alone at night.