Globes of color. Spheres of spectrums. The man in the mask juggled them all. From his fingertips they flew, each one, rotating as his hands tossed them. Each one, flying high into the air.
They were juggled in and out of the shadows; in and out of the light. The man in the mask knew not what they were, for to him, they were but baubles of light. Each more unique than the last. These spheres, these globes, changed as the man juggled them. Each changing and morphing at a different pace.
Some of these globes, seemed to give off small blasts. Others, would start to lose their luster; these ones looked as though they were rotting from the inside out.
At one point, one of the spheres became red-hot. It began to steam, and there were many small explosions coming from its surface. Finally, the sphere exploded, just as the masked man threw it high into the air. It showered him with a shimmer of dust, but his juggling continued on, uninterrupted.
Another sphere began to feel cold on the masked man’s fingertips. As he tossed the sphere into the air, it turned to ice. The masked man let it fall, and it shattered on the white floor, spraying a cloud of sparkling white snow. The man in the mask continued to juggle, uninterrupted.
And so it went on; some of the spheres would explode with heat, some would freeze and shatter on the white floor below; once or twice, a sphere would melt. Finally, the masked man had but one sphere left.
He juggled his last, bright, radiant bauble, using only one hand. He bounced it from the crook of his elbow, into his palm. His maroon coat shimmered from the light of the orb. His green hair glimmered as the bauble bounced.
Again, and again, and again.
And the masked man continues to juggle…
…uninterrupted.
