Ruby Red Marionette

Prelude

Prelude

We were all chosen.

I don’t know how it happened. It could have been done randomly; maybe they picked out every other person they saw enter a supermarket, or closed their eyes and picked the first person they saw every time they opened again. But for some reason, it felt calculated. I couldn’t be just another victim of chance. There had to be some kind of reason, something about me or my appearance or my name, even where I come from, that made me seem suitable for the game.

Either way, whether random or systematic, they were watching us.

Every minute of every day leading up to game day, their eyes were on us. They saw us individually, and then connected us somehow - maybe it was voodoo, maybe they’re just smart - and knew that the job had been done well. Their players had interacted, one-by-one, and it was time to progress. We were ready.

Ready, maybe, but never suspecting.

I, for one, was a little wary of the events that had been taking place. Life wasn’t just life anymore in December; every month out of the year, things just happened, and they only happened when I made them or when someone else did, someone I could see. But that month, I felt blind. I felt like a puppet on strings, being swung and swayed about, but every time I looked up to see if the strings were really there, they were gone, even when I could have sworn that I saw them just a second ago. That was their weapon - they were illusionists. They made us doubt ourselves and then each other. Everything we had known to be true was a lie, and suddenly we couldn't tell the difference.

We were already in too deep when things started to be clear.

If I learned anything from them, it was that all we really have is the present. Our pasts didn’t help us in this game; nobody we’d known and no places we’d been could have prepared us for this experience. Not even yesterday could explain today. And the future was vague for us. Every day we made plans, and the next day they were destroyed. We lost trust in the practice of preparation for something we couldn’t see. We were all a bunch of kids in a concrete jungle, taking ten steps on the pavement, and all we knew was that once we’re on the tenth step, the first didn’t exist. You couldn’t retrace. Nothing was derivative.

The only thing that could save you was to stop stepping, and start running.