2016 Magic Town Literary Contest
Age 13-18 Winner:  Jacqueline Pfeil
In This Issue
Awards Ceremony Photos
An Abundance of Magic by Jacqueline Pfeil


Awards Ceremony Photos for
Jacqueline Pfeil

An Abundance of Magic
by Jacqueline Pfeil
Age 13-18 Winner
Age 14,
Liberty High School 

Group shot of all the award recipients with Michael.
Michael sharing his thoughts on Jacqueline's amazing story.

Jacqueline receiving her award - a one-of-a-kind Michael Garman sculpture personalized to her and her story!

Michael autographing Jacqueline's award.
More Magic Town Moments Inspired by Jacqueline's Story
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An Abundance of Magic
by Jacqueline Pfeil
Liberty High School
We exist as a unit, telling the American story through our plastic forms of humanity. There is a divinity in each of us through our imperfect features and bent stature; the aspects that make each of us what we are.   Who we are. Not perfect, no, but realistic in a way that makes you think twice about the possibility of magic and forces your mind to conceive the impossible and unachievable.

We are Magic Town.

As dusk falls, the orange hues of the sun threaten to set, lighting the sky on fire with differentiating shades of pink and purple. A silence falls over our exhibit with only the muffled bustling of the museum's staff closing for the night. Behind locked doors, not a soul is aware of the activity that occurs on the streets of Magic Town.

As the staff takes their leave, there is nothing. We listen, yet not a single sound alerts us that tonight's twilight has gone usually amiss. There is nothing; not at first.

Then, a solitary chirp of a blue bird, atop a birdhouse of the same color, echoes piercingly throughout the exhibit. We wait. Nobody rushes through the doors, a curious expression plastered onto their face.

One chirp after cautious chirp leads to a symphony of bird song before the sound of a dog, stationed by a fire hydrant, shakes out his fur, and trots along the cracked sidewalk, sniffing out the felines already roaming upon windowsills of tall buildings.  Slowly, one by one, our limbs begin to tremble and stir, excited, as magic enters our realm. Electricians twist street lamp bulbs into place, casting soft, yellow lights onto each road, and finally, we begin to move.  
Smiles grow on the children's faces while their booming laughs travel throughout our exhibit. Little girls clutch their teddy bear's soft fur, content; while the boys scatter across the sidewalk, playing hopscotch and throwing rocks. The soles of their shoes can hardly be heard as the children shout with great fun, awakening weary-eyed adults on the top floors of hotels and homes, demanding silence.
Down a few blocks the tang of the pizzeria, well-known as Tony's, wafts away the usual aroma of buttery popcorn, with roasted pepperoni and melted cheese. A man exits with a pizza, the large cardboard box warming his palms and flushing his smiling face.

The street he walks upon is littered with unread newspapers swept away with the wind and unswept dust and dirt; the detail all perceived as normal to any onlooker. Beautiful, even. Penny pinchers, officers, and drunks clutter the boulevards, looking for anything worth getting their hands on. Long-time friends embrace and talk of children whose sharp nails inflicted a chip on their paint or of passersby whose eyes looked down on them in awe at the magic they were witnessing. 
Down alleyways, the homeless share tents and food. While it is true they are dirty, some unwelcome, without them, Magic Town would not be what it is. It would have a perfection that simply does not exist in reality. The poor have a place in our world, just as everyone else does, and tell their stories just as well written as those living in luxury.

Behind closed doors, the jagged edged bricks that make up our homes withhold many other lives from the rest of Magic Town. Some adults lounge on sofas, preferring to maintain their original position, while kids look out their bedroom windows and dream of what they are to become. Others express their tragedies and triumphs in their households through music--a low piano tuned to just the right melody and blended with just the right notes, or an abundance of pastels brushed with a steady hand onto a white canvas.

We are not part of the light; the light that is flat and uninteresting, the light has no character. Instead, we are as imperfect as the shadows; the shadows that have character and shape, the shadows that make the light worth seeing.

Our flaws are purposeful for the creator that has graced us with parts of his own soul was flawed. Art is not supposed to be beautiful, but rather invoke emotion. Our maker knew this and made it a reality.
He carefully poured himself little by little into every one of us, his masterpieces, and allowed the magic we have to exist. His imagination has the power to defeat the barriers of an entire army, and in our case, an army of magic. He is now, and will forever be, a part of the lives he has birthed us.

The sky is, ever so slowly, turning from its dark starry night to the pale blue of daybreak. The sunlight crystallizes the museum's windows and reflects onto us as the perfect, warm summer's day. Morning has arrived.

In the distance, a click sounds, so soft it could have been brushed off as a mere creak of the building. But we knew.

One by one we watch as the museum's lights flicker on, casting sharp shadows amongst the exhibit, and one by one we freeze, holding our original positions despite our mispl aced locations throughout Magic Town. Even the birds halt their chirping and the dogs suspend their panting. The magic gradually seeps its way out the back door and we cease to exist as living things until night bestows itself upon the museum once again.

We watch, silent and still as the doorknob to our exhibit turns, gives way, and into the room a puddle of yellow light pours in, followed by our beloved creator.

With a slight shake of his head and a tsk, he gently places us back into our rightful scenes with a kind, knowing smile.   "It's show time, my friends," he says into the large room with a good-natured whisper, and walks out, leaving us once more.

All time has once again frozen in place, and there is nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Reader, welcome to Magic Town.