Murder of Crows

So the below is a snippet of the start of what was going to be a short story. For what it's worth, this was quite a ways back when I was much younger and less experienced. The quality of the rendering is somewhat rudimentary, but one could perhaps conjure up some ideas as to where the story might lead.

Painting a picture of sorts was there, a semblance of it at least. If you look in your mind's eye hard enough though, you just might be able to picture what happens next. At the very least, maybe I captured a setting and a "feeling."

"Abel waited by the fence, hoping to catch a glimpse of the one they said could make the magic happen. It was hot and dusty, probably around one hundred degrees in south Georgia. His mouth was dry but he didn’t care. They said that Marco the Magnificent could turn a pack of Lucky Strikes into a pitcher of water, or better still, a frog into a man. Heck, he was known as the greatest prestidigitator from here clear down to Miami, Florida, and that was saying a lot! Abel’s uncle George had seen Marco pull a woman out of a contraption smaller than a hatbox, “the darndest thing I ever saw,” George told him.

Marco was going to be the biggest attraction in Big Plant since the governor came down back in ’53, and Abel was going to be sure to see him as he drove into town for the first time. Abel had gotten his first magic kit two years ago and began to practice real hard, doing his first tricks within two days after getting the kit. Since then, his skills had improved, and he even began to read the magic magazines.

“When do you think I’ll be good enough to travel around like Marco?” he asked his mother.

“Abel, you know ain’t nothin’ come out of Big Plant ‘cept peanuts the last fifty years so don’t be goin’ and gettin’ no big ideas.”

Abel lowered his gaze, but then perked up and said “Well, Big Plant ain’t gotta load of me yet either Mama!” he said, waving his hands with a flourish as if he were a fancy illusionist.