Pretty sad, I know. To be honest, I don’t even remember when it happened, when I lost control of my own life. Somewhere between the ages of 25 and forty is my guess, but as to exactly when I have no memory and it may well be better than way. You can’t mourn something you don’t remember.
They will come today. They told me so; they promised. Then again, they haven’t come the last 1374 days when they promised so I’m not holding my breath. I’m beginning to think they lied.
No matter, I’m quite comfortable here. I can’t go out on my own, but I have a nice-sized room with a double bed, comfortable furniture and my own bathroom. Endless books to read, paper and pen and any other convenience I might desire. Except one. But, on the bright side, not everybody here gets such luxury and I am grateful.
Really.
If you don’t believe me, so be it. This is what we are doing now, okay.
Twice a day they bring me trays overflowing with food and drink. Food fit for a king, but, then again, I am a king. Or used to be.
Does that mean I am an ex-king? A retired king? A past-his-prime king?
Truth is, it makes me an imprisoned king.
This is what we are doing, okay.
Okay.
Okay.
“Earthquake? Hurricane? Flood? Mudslide?”
“Humph.”
“Tsunami? Volcano?”
“All right, enough already.”
“Tornado?”
“I said enough.”
“This is Kansas. Oz?”
“If I did have my house, I’d drop it on you.”
“But you don’t.”
“Obviously.”
The empty lot sat before them, refusing to give away it’s secrets.
“Think the insurance company will pay the claim?”
“Well, my house was here. Now it isn’t. Gotta be something in my policy about that.”
“Probably considered an act of God. Not covered.”
“Don’t you have someplace to be?”
“Nope. I wouldn’t desert my best friend in his time of need.”
“Oh, please, desert me.”
“Nope.” She linked her arm through his.
“Great.”
“I told you not to raise you hand when that magician asked for volunteers.”
“What? I was supposed to think he was gonna make my house disappear from half-way across the country?”
“He said he would make something disappear.”
“My house? Really? Don’t they usually make a quarter disappear, or maybe a dollar, not a fricking house!”
“Maybe you should call the police.”
“And tell them what? Some magician folded my house up into his pocket – with everything in it – and walked off with it. Oh, yeah, that would go well.”
“Well, you raised your hand.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Mungo the Magician lay back in his new recliner and flicked on the television with the wave of one hand. This was, by far, the nicest house he’d ever stolen.
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