Magic

Right in the middle of the water, there's this table and chair standing on what can be called a tiny island. Visualize the top surface of this table- rectangular. A marble starts rolling from the mid-point of the side of this rectangle directly in front of the chair. Towards the opposite face. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9,, blop. Into the water. Not a splash. But a blop.

The blop may not be a splash. But the blop is not insignficant. The table and chair in the middle of water, the marble rolling on the table, and the marble falling into the water with a blop. You can call it digression. I call it a tranquil whim.
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Anyways, we are at the top of a cliff. Its flat. Its rocky, but its flat.
They are clones. Physically, that is. Both males, 6 feet tall, very short hair with a lean, no fat build. And they are sitting back, looking out from the top of the cliff. Both of them are wearing solid coloured shirts. And their trousers are not of our interest.

The one on the left is wearing a solid white colored shirt and the one on the right, a solid orange one. White says, "I see a pigeon." Both seem to be lost in other worlds. Out of his reverie Orange steps out for a moment to say, "I see crows.'

Both turn to look at each other. Orange turns away. White keeps looking in Orange's direction. White has an amused look on his face. Its not a comic look, mind you. On to the right, Orange has wrinkles on his forehead.

White stands up. Extends an arm out- an arm not necessarily of welcome but one of understanding. The pigeon flies in to take a position on his arm.

Orange now stands up. Walks back to his warddrobe (an open air one on the top of the cliff) and retrieves a double-barelled shotgun. Taking aim, he shoots. Down comes a bird.

Again, White looks at Orange with an amused look. Orange doesn't look his way. With wrinkles still.

There's a rumbling sound from above as clouds prepare for a downpour. And, 1, 2, 3, 4, Rain.

White removes his clothes. And reveals his bare naked skin. Walks to the full-body mirror behind him and looks at himself without looking away. Every nature of his skin revealed. And still doesn't flinch. He walks back, with a smile. A calm smile. An understanding smile. And towards the edge he walks. Spreads eagle his arms, closes his eyes. And jumps. Gracefully. Freedom.

Orange stands still. His wrinkles more pronounced now, expressing his irritation with the rain.

White and Orange. Understanding and Wasteful Fighting. Smile and Wrinkle. Lucid Tranquility and Power. No. Rather, Tranquil Lucidity and Power. Tranquil Lucidity is Freedom.
Freedom is Magic.