Where to begin? The Bad Magician already never existed--to not come back is impossible, though some will tell you otherwise. I won't. Having already never existed, the Bad Magician wakes from a place where sleep learned to fight, and dogs evolve into glitter. The glass window screams at him, and windswept errand boys smash against the outer walls, again and and again and again. It is a filthy business, and not likely to be cleaned up soon.
The Bad Magician drops all pretense of despair, and puts on his logs, and kicks down the walls and the mountains. He is in such a hurry that he cannot stop, or go back, or learn to exist properly. He just goes, on fire, the air swirling the silent ashes of his cremated youth.
Must. Go. Now.
Follow me, said the Bad Magician. And so we follow.
***
Violent, the landing, craggy rocks shooting sparks into the sleeves, into his chest. Pain is the music of suffering. Where am I to go? To the land of your fathers. Where is that land? In the west. How far west? Figure it out.
Gotta get dressed. Why? Invited to the castle. To what purpose? To ease the fear of a frightened man. Do you believe it, that you will ease his fear? No. What will you say to him? I will say: remember your brother. I will say: see the car, get in, slam the door, drive. Where will you drive?
To America. What do you want from the frightened man? Title.
And so we went. It did not end properly.
***
