Choice Cuts

Puppets

It’s a beautiful day outside. The trees are singin’, the birds are swayin’, and the Puppet-maker is excited to see what this new batch will bring to the table.

Speaking of tables, where did theirs go? Didn’t they just tell them to stay put? The Puppet-maker shook their head in a timely manner. They guess they’ll just have to cut some strings off then. Better to have a String-less table than a Runaway one. The Puppet-maker yawned.

The Puppet-maker stretched their head over their shoulders. Ah, another day, another batch. The Puppet-maker stood on their tiptoes to achieve full-stretch capacity and–banged their head against the high ceiling. Right. No more dallying around. The Puppet-maker proceeded to lower their head from the high ceiling and back to safe levels. There’s a new batch waiting for them. They smiled a wide smile and took their kit from the bedside table.

The Puppet-maker whistled a wordless little tune and rounded the corner, banging the kit against the walls and ceilings as they went. They couldn’t afford an alarm clock, so this will have to do. They smiled to themself then increased the volume of their whistling, upping the ante.

The Puppet-maker slammed the door open. Open, says me. They grinned and strolled to the table where the wooden box is. The Puppet-maker slapped the kit on top of the table next to the box, and cracked their knuckles. Wakey-wakey, it’s time for bakey.

The Puppet-maker flipped open the cover and peered inside. One, two, three, four. One on each corner. The Puppet-maker smiled. Time for the theatre.

“Once, there was a Puppet.”

One of the puppets jerked forward.

“Who wanted to be free of their strings.”

The puppet convulsed on the spot, straining against its strings.

The Puppet-maker opened their kit with one hand and rummaged inside with the other. “And so when they came across a pair of scissors…” The Puppet-maker laid the scissors down next to the puppet, and slowly pulled their hand back. “They used it to cut their strings away.”

The puppet didn’t move.

The Puppet-maker frowned. “And they used it to cut their strings away.”

The puppet didn’t move.

The Puppet-maker fumed. “I said, they used it to cut their strings away.”

The puppet didn’t move.

The Puppet-maker snarled. “Look here, you son of a bitch–”

The puppet moved. Jerked violently in place. Lifted the plastic handles with their fleshy hands, and stabbed the nearest puppet in the head.

The Puppet-maker shrieked. “NO! That’s not what I meant!”

The puppet backtracked and plunged the scissors into another puppet’s head.

“Stop that! You insolent fool!”

The puppet swayed this way and to the left, and slashed the last one in the head.

“The end! The end!” The Puppet-maker sobbed.

The scissors dropped from the puppet’s grasp and clanked against the wooden floorboards of the wooden box.

“And so they were free to go.”

The Puppet-maker sniffled and replaced the cover. They zipped the kit close and hid their head between their shoulders.

The Puppet-maker is not happy anymore and sobbed into the table.

|Originally written: April 07, 2020