Long time ago, When the oceans were of a safe level, When the greenness of the trees overshadowed the concrete of the buildings, When the air we breathed was, in fact, air we breathed and not a toxic mixture of many, There lived a trickster who was famous for one of his many tricks. Lovingly referred to as Mr Trick, He preferred a name that did a one above, Trick-Master. He lived under a grassy hill, Away from most of the population, But his jovial self could not stay away from the crowd for long; Because as night fell, His legs did, too; his hands tinkled, for The result of his daily trick lit a fire in him such that it must, it should, be satiated immediately. Every evening he would take a walk around the market, People would greet him, scream a warning, “Mr Trick is here!” And hide, they would, but only from his gaze. His gaze held the power of the trick. Look at them directly and lo!...
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