Max was a first class magician. He could cause a lamp to appear out of nowhere and hover over his head. He could make the lamp glow. He could conjure up beautiful women to sit on his shoulders. He could pluck apples from the women's bodies and juggle the luscious fruits in the air. But there was more to life than all that. Max's contemplations soon developed a more existential essence. He realized that he was only a fragment of an author's imagination. He was also aware that this particular author had an especially grim way of dealing with his characters. He read his author well. Perhaps the two women would pelt him with fruit, or peel him like a banana. And if that wasn't enough, when the story ended he would ultimately cease to exist. Taking action, he froze the apples in mid-spin and concentrated intensely. The writer of these lines was aware of Max's intentions and attempted to end the story as quickly as possible, but before completing the final sentence dealing with Max and rescuing a point of wisdom out of the narrative, the author found himself wandering in the mountains of southern Poland far removed from the Internet.

Story #50