Stand aside, Mr Copperfield.
By emjaygee

Even though I had never been to this part of the city before it didn't take me long to find the pub that we had agreed to meet in. The journey had been pleasant enough. The smart, newly-built Metro system boasted the latest technology in comfortable, subterranean cross-city travel and its sleek trains had whisked me here in style. I emerged from the Metro station, blinking against the sunlight, onto a neat, pedestrianised block-paved road that was bustling with shoppers. The air was heady with the scent of flowers that were set in the baskets that flanked the street and its warmth encouraged me to shed my jacket and sling it over one shoulder. In short, it was a beautiful day. Or so I thought.

The email had contained clear instructions on the pub's location also, strangely, the seller had been especially specific on the time and how I must not be late. There was no chance of that happening – being an avid collector of the bizarre and quirky,  this was one bargain that was too good to miss! I remember the first purchase that started my collection; a pair of x-ray specs that was advertised in one of the comics of the time - two weeks paper round money they cost me too! I checked my watch, there was still ten minutes to go before our agreed rendezvous time. Enough time then to get a drink. Just before I stepped into the pub, a young student-type offered me a flyer for the latest fashion shop that had recently opened. I stowed it and went in.

It was just before four in the afternoon and, as you'd expect on a weekday, the place was fairly quiet. There was the usual thin spread of people around the bar: a young, smartly dressed couple and a sprinkle of office types released from work early (either that or they were indulging in an overly-extended lunch break) sipping at foreign lagers and knocking back shots. As I scanned the room I noticed an empty table in a alcove. I decided that I would park myself there as it had a good view of the street and I could keep a lookout for the seller. I ordered my drink and, while it was being poured, wondered how I would recognise him. Although he had been specific about everything else, he had omitted to give a description of himself; there was no “I'll be wearing a red rose and carrying the 'Daily Telegraph' or anything. Still, I thought, he would hardly be lost in the crowd here. I gave the bartender the right change, picked up my pint and made for the alcove. I paused. The table was no longer vacant and its occupant was staring directly at me. I hadn't heard the door open and he had no drink in front of him. Was this the curious seller? Before I could make any decision either way, the stranger answered my question by giving me a  meaningful nod of his head. I walked the remaining few steps to the table and sat opposite him.

There was something quite disconcerting about this character. He had something of an agitated demeanour about him. Now that he had “got me” his eyes glanced nervously about and, when his hand wasn't pushing back his long hair from his face, it was drumming at the tabletop with well manicured fingernails. 'Got a right one here,' I thought, and in an effort to lighten the moment I stretched out my hand and said “Mr Illyushun, I presume”. This seemed to confuse my nervous, new acquaintance somewhat because no reply was forthcoming and nether did he offer his hand, even shrinking away from mine. “Mr Illyushun”, I repeated and then more pointedly“your E-bay seller name?” “Oh yes,” he replied  “yes, that's right”. His behaviour was trying my patience and I decided to forego the pleasantries and get right to the nub of the business, saying “Well, have you got it then?” He looked first to his left, then to his right and twisted his neck to look behind right out onto the street (this struck me as being quite comical at the time) and then reached into the pocket of his heavy overcoat and drew out a small box which he placed on the table. His hand still held it securely, though. I put the agreed amount of money for the sale on the table and took the box from his grip. Without a word the seller picked up the money and left. “Charming,” I thought. I shook the box and its contents emitted a pleasing rattle.

I opened the box and spilled its contents onto the table;  it was a small amulet on a fine silver chain.  I picked it up and inspected it in the dull light. The amulet itself was nothing more than a metal disc, it was obviously old and its engravings were almost  rubbed out of existence by much handling. The only symbol that I recognised was a crude engraving of an eye but, beyond that, there was nothing remarkable about it.

I took another swig from my glass and immediately spat the sour contents back into the glass. 'Curious,' I thought 'it had tasted OK before.' I looked around the bar which was now gloomy in the failing light. No-one had entered or left since my erstwhile companion had departed. The couple in the alcove were now all over each other kissing open-mouthed with not a thought for others that may witness their gropings. 'Get a room,' I intoned to myself. In this light, the office workers that had formerly looked so dapper now appeared drab and cut depressing figures in their shabby suits. Most of them looked the worst for drink. The man at the next table had  a tear running down his face which he smeared away with a filthy sleeve. The downbeat nature of the room and the underlying odour of sweat and  other odours (I think I'll give the toilets a miss) induced me to the exit and so I made my way across the threadbare carpet.
 

I stepped out of the door and felt something grab at my ankle. I looked down to see that a poor wretch was restraining my leg with one hand while the other was held out in the hope of an offering. Pitifully, I realised the  urchin had no legs and his body was wedged  into some makeshift device by which he could propel himself along; nothing more than a bucket on wheels in reality. I mumbled an apology and continued along the litter-strewn, rat infested streets. No more than an hour had passed since I had first walked into the pub and yet it was so gloomy. The lowering monotony of the dark sky was made darker still from the noxious smoke pumped out of the  inumerous smoking stacks that thrust them selves impertinently skyward. Smog-filtered acid rain began to fall which stung the skin and  I turned up the collar of my coat and hunkered down into it as much as I could before continuing on my way.

The pavements were full of the homeless and I was stopped by beggars at almost every step. A knot of youths was up ahead and I could tell they were drunk. As I passed, they started to attack a girl -  pushing her up against a wall.  “Rape!” she shouted and then burst out laughing as one of the thugs ripped open the front of her blouse. He turned round to me and said “what the fuck are you looking at? Do you fancy a bit an' all.” I had to get home, and fast.

I was reluctant to take the Metro now but it was the quickest way out of this hell hole. Carefully, because the treads were slippery, I climbed my way down the now stationery escalator. These escalators had not moved for a long time. When I reached the platform I saw before me a vision of Bedlam! Not one of the faces that stared hollowly back at mine was free from some sort of disease or evidence of malnutrition and a chorus of coughing and hawking was all around. The man standing next to me coughed thickly and spat out a thick gob of mucus onto  the floor. He wiped the spittle from his unshaven chin and stared at me challengingly with rheum filled eyes.  A foul smelling breeze presaged the arrival of the dirty, ageing Metro train and it lurched to a stop with much squealing of brakes. Once we had alighted the dingy carriage, the train groaned and wheezed as it picked up steam and stuttered forward. Many of my fellow passengers were crippled, trying to maintain their balance with the help of a stick. A small child sat on the floor ('where was its Mother?') tugging at the hem of my coat and, looking down,  I realised that my own clothes were in no better shape.
 

It was a relief to get out of the subway and I started to pound along the familiar streets to my home. I say 'familiar streets'. They were in the respect that I knew their configuration, but that is as far as my recognition went. This once smart and respectable part of town was no longer so; people were hurrying about as usual on their way back from work but these spiritless weary-worn creatures   broke the heart to look at them.  And the roads, where I would normally expect to see Chelsea tractors, BMW's and Mercedes, were now carrying old and battered cars that belched out thick plumes of smoke. In fact, the street was littered by the wrecks of abandoned cars.

I reached the foyer of my block of flats. Graffiti was sprayed everywhere and the smell of stale piss filled my nostrils. I ascended the stairs to my floor. As I walked along the corridor to my door I could hear couples arguing in their flats and the odour of boiled cabbage and dull stew seemed to be the order of the day for every occupant. Once inside my flat I was not surprised to see that my smart and trendy furniture was nothing more than sticks. What I once believed to be my highly polished mahogany table was merely a roughly hewn wooden box. Nevertheless, I sat at the “table” and once again took out the small parcel and examined its contents. I peered into the box itself and saw that a small fold of paper was lodged within. With some care I took out the paper and unfolded it: the handwritten note read as follows...

“Dear Buyer, by now you will be wondering what is going on. It is evident that the amulet enables the owner to see things as they truly are, to see beyond the illusion within which we are all living. What happened exactly I cannot tell, but it is clear that civilisation has broken down and the governments are deceiving us into believing that we live in pleasant, ordered societys. How they do this I do not know. Maybe they have laced our water supplies with an hallucinogenic or perhaps they pump illusory drugs  into the air from the chimneys. What I do know is, that if you don't find a buyer for this amulet within 72 hours of purchasing it then the “scales” will have dropped from your eyes permanently and you will be consigned to enduring the truth forever. I decided that I would rather live the illusion than the truth and that is why I have sold the amulet on to you. The choice is yours, my friend, but if you do decide to sell then extend my warning to them as I have to you. It is the only decent thing to do in a world that no longer understands the word. Regards, Illyushun”.
 
So there you have it. Faced with the obvious power of the amulet, then I have no reason to disbelieve the warning. So that is why I am sat here at my computer, Ebay site loaded, filling in the details for the sale of this wonderful amulet. How about it dear reader? Why not fire up your computers and start bidding? Then you too could see the truth for what it really is. Did I say computers? Hah! If only you knew the truth.