Aman Mathur

Some friend of my father had given him tickets for an on-stage magic show, performed by some famous
magician. I would never have gone but some how I forced myself. I hate magic, I hate myself and I even
hate life. But still some inner force urged me to overcome my hatred and go for this show.

The magician started with the usual rubbish like taking cards out of air or making coins appear in some
one's pockets etc. I was just about to yawn when he cried out:

"And now, for a final event. People always complain that the magician always gets to choose a volunteer
who is usually a friend of his, so now I request any one of you to draw the chit on which the ticket
number is written and that shall be the chosen volunteer's ticket."

After a lot of commotion and silly jokes finally a ticket was drawn:

"And the lucky ticket number is:216. Wow!! Can I please have the winner on the stage for a little magic."

Oh God!!!

It was my ticket number. I was hoping that no one will notice and I'll get away with it but a girl next to
me shouted, "He is the lucky winner”, while pointing at me. I wish that I had a knife handy. I was dragged
up to the stage by the magician's assistant who seemed more like a bouncer.

Finally the magician blurted out:” Ladies and gentlemen, you are all going to witness a remarkable sight.
This young boy here will do whatever I command him to do". I was about to say "In you dreams", but
managed to give a weak smile.

The magician took out an expensive pendulum (which if sold will bring more profit than doing magic with
it). He began oscillating the pendulum in front of me and saying stuff like:” You eyelids are heavy" or
"You must go to sleep”. In the beginning I followed the path of the oscillation but later I just stared at
one point. Finally I blacked out.

The next thing that I remember is that the magician had been shot in the chest and his blood-stained
body lay in front of me. I thought about bending down and inspecting it but I found no purpose in doing
so. He could never repay my help so what's the use of helping him.

After 7-8 minutes the crowd which had gathered around the body, took notice of me.” He’s still in a
trance”, I heard my mother say. People tried to snap me out of the trance, shrugged me, even hit me;
but to no avail. Some time later I was carried outside the hall. I could observe everything but still my
mind did not react to anything. I found no purpose in doing so.

I remember lying in a psychiatrist's room with my worried parents beside me chatting with the doctor.

"I am really sorry to report that at present no one is in the position to cure your son. I must apologize
but the only advice I can give you is that you return home and put him to sleep. I believe that the trance
can only be broken by the hypnotist who is now no longer with us. Now the police wants to talk to you
about the murder meanwhile I'll do some tests on him".

My parents left the room and the psychiatrist began to show me some photos and drawings. He also put
on a song on the radio and began to observe my reactions.
It was my favorite song "Butterfly" but still my body or mind showed no reactions because I found no
purpose in doing so.

The next important thing that I should mention is that it was night and I was lying in by bedroom,
listening to my dad on the phone and my mother sobbing. I took out my dad's pistol from my jacket's
pocket and hid it in my wardrobe. My jacket had a huge hole from where the bullet had come out from
but still I didn't stitch it as I found no purpose. I lay down on the bed to get some sleep with my eyes

So was I the one who killed the magician?



Because I found a purpose to do I mentioned earlier, I hate living, but that
doesn't mean that I love dying.................

So here I am, with the help of some co-incidences, sleeping peacefully in what I believe will become my