(Might not be too accurate?)

It all happened so fast.

The banana peels. The booing from the audience. Artful's sudden lash out. The magic that suddenly bursted from his wand. And now the auditorium was a mess.

"What have I done..."

Someone's blood dripped from the ceiling onto Artful's face, whom which the man was on his knees on the stage, staring at the warm fluid that coated his black fingerless gloves. He looked around with a horrified expression, silently pleading that this wasn't real, that this was all just a nightmare that crawled out straight from hell.

But it was too real.

"What have I done..."

His magic wand lay on the stage floor beside him, pulsing gently. He had done this. If only he had controlled himself. If only he could control his magic properly. Now thousands of people in the room, his fans, his cherished admirers, were completely done for, either scattered around, hanging on decorations on the ceiling or had vanished from the aftermath of the magic.

"What have I done..."

Nobody should've survived that.

But you did.

You sat up in the midst of rubble, flesh and debris, bearing your surroundings.

And now his eyes fell on you as you stared at each other, both of your intentions unclear.