The Magician.

Did you ever hear of the story of the unknown magician?
“It starts like this," my grandfather’s voice stated to me. I snuggled up closer, against the greying man, my grandfather. He sat and his white beard was protruding over textured covers and bedspreads he clenched around him. My grandfather's mouth rattled out words of adventure. 
“Isn’t it funny things come back to us, and when we are not looking as well” he said to conclude the story, and then he had fallen asleep.
I sat upright though, thinking isn’t it funny how my grandfather could come out with such wisdom filled stories, and then just sleep, like nothing had happened. Like nothing had changed. Life does that too you right, makes you grow unexpectedly. 
 
So now, I guess you’re wondering, so here’s how it went. There was a boy. Young, bright, violent .Bang bang bang. The shots from his toy gun could be heard for miles and miles around the stretch of land that surrounded his abadnoned abode. Everyday the boy’s mother would carry him out (he was most unwilling to oblige to things he did not want to do) and carry him off to the car for school. School. It was a big place and here for many years was where the boy grew taller. He found it strange, he seemingly had grown inches over months, how strange a ability of the human body to grow whilst we don’t notice. 
Gowth was a unseemingly interesting facts of life to the boy who could also of been described as ‘interesting’, the children at the school around him would laugh and laugh quite often at his weird ideas. Baffling concepts in his head all day long made him vulnerable to spitting out what was often considered nonsense. It was when he had told his mum about his fascination with frogs and how they could  be considered as being under the  'flying creatures' category (the ones he saw could leap the length of whole 30cm rulers) it was realised that the boy was not like other kids.

  He, not like other kids, had strange ideas in his head of which they did not uphold. This was where I had interrupted my grandfather’s story, which he did not often like, ‘So this was a boy who was an outsider?' I had said bravely. My grandfather’s response? a frown, and then an answer. “No, not an outsider the boy was an adventurer. It is where an observer makes a mistake you see, they, by watching do not get experience. You can absorb only so much information. By joining in, a person gains so much more.”
Next a continuation, ‘The boy was brought strange gifts, or at least gifts which were uncommon, his friends got bikes, action men, sweets, toy guns, and he was the recipient of magnifying glasses, books about adventures and maps. One year he got a magician’s hat.
The boy liked to think that the magicians hat could transport him anywhere, uninterested in the traditional trickery of magic the boy would instead use the hat as a transport tool. All he had to do was place the hat on his head and bang. He was there. 
He found many different places he could go and many differing adventures he could have. He fought battles oversea, him along with his friends. Them with their toy guns assisting him often. 
Again, I interrupt. “But he didn’t really go anywhere?”
“No” my grandfather answered. “He did. In his mind.” 
Years later after the wars were fought and the boy grew up and married and such he went routing back through his cupboards on those days that you do, feeling the call of nostalgia. He found there stacks of boxes, photo frames enlaced with a thin dust and, no hat.
It was a mystery. The hat was not found.
I couldn’t help interrupting here again, “Not ever?”
My grandfather had smiled. And that, was when I was told, that yes the hat did come around, yes. One year the boy found himself on a stage, performing a trick and as the crowd roared as the bunny vanished, he called back the bunny to the room and found himself with a hat instead. My grandfather did not explain how when I interrupted here, just smiling knowingly. The story ended with a bow forward, and the sound of colliding hands.

A chime of the old grandfather clock had ended the end of this. My grandfather slept and I sat and here we are, and here we were, full circle.