A Year of Stories (Collection Four)

A Magic Trick With Bunnies

I have this magic trick that I've been working on.

Been playing with it for eight years now, ever since I moved to a place with more people than cattle, and decided I wanted to be a star.

Like all magic, it relies on misdirection. Like all magic, it only pays off if everyone in the room is looking the other way.

It's pretty simple. First you need eight live bunnies. Type and size doesn't matter, what's important is that they're still breathing.

Next, you need a blade – sharp, cruel, about 8 inches long from tang to tip – the kind of thing any honest butcher would be too squeamish to use.

Finally, you'll need a little intestinal fortitude, and a poker face, if you strut around like the cat who Ate the canary, you'll ruin it.

I forgot this step, because it's not all that important. You're going to ask the audience to pick a number from one to ten, don't do it yet, you have to Wait for the perfect moment.

Take the blade and the bunnies, and lay them out across your table, 2 x 2 x 2.

Let the audience watch as you lift the blade, threatening the hoppy creatures in the following order: first the first, then the third, and finally the fourth.

Make a real show of it, make them believe you're some kind of bunny killing mad man, that you're going to slaughter these poor, adorable, innocent, devious, wildly expendable, frustratingly numerous, perhaps not so important, vermin as a part of some macabre ritual.

Make them believe that, because that's exactly what you're going to do. You're going to kill each and every one. You'll end their pathetic lives in front of this audience of yours, even if they Hate you for it.

It'll be glorious.

You'll finally be a star.

...

...

..

Just kidding.

Put the bunnies away, and ask the audience to pick their numbers. The first thing that comes to their heads.

Try it now.

Don't cheat.

Don't read ahead.

Most of all, don't think.

Ready?

Your number is eight, right?