Fiction: Group 3
Into the Shadows
West Island School, Lee, Justin - 11, Fiction: Group 3
verybody wishes to start his or her life as a rather dramatic statement, as a coolant in an apoplectic
man’s heart, or rather, as the old man in the skiff who couldn’t catch a fish in eighty-four days. No
matter which option is chosen, nobody would start off as an aspiring businessman whose “magic
toys” investment just had gone horribly wrong. The magic toys were popular between many circus and
magic shows, with special “guns” and pig blood sacs. Most sane people would opt to read a rather long and
irrelevant description of life’s facts, rather than poring over one’s possible woes, and wringing his or her hair
in anguish. Various people recommend a reasonable reader to read an awkwardly cuddly-warm story filled
with unicorns, than to read a story of dismal and broken ceramics.
He smoothed out his coffee-stained shirt for the tenth time, wondering if the forked collar should be held
at a particular angle, rather than comprehending the distinct plunge of his investment in a particular toy
business in a particular area of the Pearl River Delta, which he, as a CEO should have been thinking. His
business was facing the grim truth, the mere oblivion of the “seventh stage of business”, not unlike the
seventh stage of man in Shakespeare’s classic poem “All the world’s a stage”.
His employees were overladen with labors, which caused many cases of panda-like black eye rings. His
company’s stock price fell palpably below their avant-garde stock-broking competitors. He was facing a
middle-age financial crisis at home, where much of it was due to the “happy hour beer rush” with high
amounts of dashing to the supermarkets and six-packs of “Tsingtao”. He just needed the life, the condo on
“affluent lane”. His reputation had to be spotless; he needed to be a figure on the stock market. Much of his
little capital was spent on buying new, useless investments. The only thing that brought some light to his
gloomy, dismal life was the shows.
The shows were out of the ordinary. They were magic and rather “circus-like” shows, with always
somebody to perform the card tricks, making cards appear everywhere, with somebody to mind-read with
the audience, but the most compelling one was the frightful stunt to finish it off. The stunt contained the
most exotic ways of killing oneself, but the magician would appear from backstage, unharmed. The shows
captivated swarms of people, thus it seemed like a favorable investment at the time. He knew nobody would
be harmed in the daring stunts they performed, as they used many of the products of his recent “magic toys”
investment. He had much trust in the reliability of the toys, as he had visited the factory that that made those
products.
His family did not approve of the idea, as they were not exactly very affectionate for the idea of one to
perform exotic stunts that involved much fire and bullets, even though the stuntman wouldn’t be harmed.
He often went to the shows, as they were an escape from the highly active world of finance. They ate out
frequently at a particular restaurant, and the restaurant always gave complimentary fortune cookies. That
night, they ate out at that restaurant. They ordered various Southern Chinese delights, accompanied by a
complimentary fortune cookie as a rather bland dessert.
The young, aspiring businessman cracked his misshapen cracker open. A minute slip of paper dropped out.
He flipped it over carefully with his nimble fingers, and scrutinized the words on it. They usually were
nonsensical and quite humorous, for example: “No monkeys move if you don’t light candles” or “You will
be hungry in one hour today”. It told him to beware a dark corner in the more murky elements of life and
leaving the city would be the cookie’s recommendation.
Of course, the young businessman wouldn’t put his business into a permanent coma, and leave to some
stranded island crowded with coconuts and palm trees. He would just continue clicking and clacking at his
long forsaken computer. He was a surfer of the waves of finance, prancing up and down his surfboard as if to
catch the small spurts of money in a vast sea of uncertainty. Nonetheless, he continued his ludicrous search
for loose change and trivial banknotes.
He departed to see the show once again. He marveled at the antics of the acrobats and the actors, the
contortionists and the conjurers, and the audacious person who always appeared to be put to death onstage
E
