Puppet Boy

16.

PART OF HIM felt so exhilarated - he loved the thrill of having a bruising throat squeezed beneath his fingertips. Another thought clouded The Man's mind with sorrow - both of his puppets were dead and the audience was waiting.

He couldn't figure out which feeling he liked the most, but something about the feeling of Emily's weak body slumped across his arms made eluded goosebumps spread throughout his heated flesh.

He sighed, standing there with Emily in his arms and Tyler laying on the table beside him. He smiled a little behind his mask, dropping his Puppet Girl limply to the ground as he lifted his Puppet Boy up from the table, groaning at his heavier body weight.

He spent a few minutes deciding what to do with them. If he spent any more time fooling around, his audience would surely begin to pile out, and he would lose the thrill of the applause after his puppets' performance.

He shrugged his shoulders, a sick grin playing on his lips.

"Well, the show must go on. Right, my beautiful puppets?"

He laughed as he tossed his Puppet Boy over his shoulder and allowed him to hang from his back as he walked through the hallway.

The sweet scent of decaying flesh along with mold welcomed his nostrils; it smelled all too familiar in the greatest way. Chills ran down his spine, as the scent reminded him exactly of his father's house.

He shivered. If his creator knew that he had accidentally referred to him as a father, he would be beaten. He cursed at himself for disrespecting him in such a terrible way.

He walked through the dim hallway and into the backstage doors of the auditorium.

Holding people hostage in an abandoned school definitely had its perks: there were plenty of rooms, it was strangely far from any civilization, and there was a huge auditorium for his beautiful puppets to perform in.

It was quite old, as the walls and a small portion of the roof were practically disintegrated and trees were growing through it, but he didn't mind. In fact, he enjoyed being so in touch with nature. He believed that the spirit of his creator was laced through the breeze that ran through each room and the rain that hit the moulding tile floor through the cracked roof.

He dropped his Puppet Boy to the ground, listening in pure euphoria to the chatter of the audience beyond the curtains.

He peeked through the vibrant red drapery and saw the sea of unfamiliar faces sitting before the stage, talking and waiting patiently for the show to start. He laughed like an excited child.

He pulled his mask off, tossing it to the side. He looked in the dirty mirror that hung on the wall and pulled the sleeve of his pants up his leg, admiring his prosthetic leg. He remembered struggling through the pain of his knee caps being removed, but he was okay with it, because staring at his creator took away the pain.

He also remembered the hospital amputating his legs once he was found, and his anger was a feeling he would surely never forget. They were taking away his reminder of the perfect puppeteer that took care of him, and it truly infuriated him.

He gazed at his reflection, snapping back into his own twisted reality.

He truly didn't think he was ugly, he actually thought he was pretty handsome. Despite his intense scars and permanent under eye circles, his balding head and wiry facial hair, he didn't understand why a girl like Puppet Girl wouldn't like him.

When he went to school, his creator sent him every day dressed in sharp outfits with beautiful stage makeup on. It was possible the girls were intimidated by his striking appearance, and the boys only loved to pick on him and beat him more than his creator because they were only joking.

He had always felt sorry that they were never able to perform, and he knew that was why they all bullied him. That's why he dedicated his life to making sure all beautiful boys and girls did what they were born to do.

"I love you, my beautiful creator," he said quietly. "I am happy that I am just like you now, for your legacy deserves to be continued," he whispered, and he could practically see the dark eyes of his creator through the mirror. The Man only smiled wider. "I hope I don't let you down."

He took a dress shirt and pants off the costume rack and quickly slid the shirt on over Tyler's arms. He buttoned the shirt up, staring at the bruised and pale chest of his puppet as he then leaned down and kissed his neck softly.

"Ah... so handsome..." he said gently while sliding the pants over Tyler's legs.

It wasn't easy to lift Tyler back up, as he was quite tall and a lot heavier than before. He struggled, sweat collecting on his forehead.

Your creator is watching, don't look like a fool. You have done this before.

He finally took the ropes that hung from the ceiling of the auditorium and tied them through the bloody holes that opened Tyler's hands. He tied them to his feet and the back of his neck, staring at his beautiful puppet's smudged makeup. Dry blood stained Tyler's leg, and fresh blood still dripped from his large wound onto the floor.

He felt bad for his puppet, for he must have been nervous, and he knew that he was also quite shaky before he went on stage in front of an audience years ago. But he was the greatest puppet ever, and he knew that his beautiful Puppet Boy would be just as excellent.

"Listen, Puppet Boy. Don't be nervous. I went through the same thing, I was a little nervous at first but I felt better once I looked out into the audience," The Man whispered, but his puppet's head only hung to the side, his eyes slightly opened. "Hear me, Puppet Boy?"

He leaned over and kissed the cold cheek of his puppet, the touch of his mouth lingering on his deceased boy before he walked out of the dark backstage to fetch his Puppet Girl.

He lifted her from the floor, smiling. "You are so stunning, absolutely breathtaking if you ask me," he said while lifting her over his shoulder.

He walked to the backstage and pulled a white dress from the costume rack, coating it in streaks of mud as he desperately tried to slide the clothing on her flimsy body.

"Fuck! Your dress is getting ruined!" he cried out, his hands rubbing his face. "Why does this always happen to me! I can't look like an idiot, I can't!"

His creator was over his shoulder, whispering. He could practically feel the familiar, hot breath on the shell of his ear. "Remember what I told you, Puppet Boy. The show must go on," he told The Man.

The Man nodded. "You're right. I am sorry."

Attaching Emily to the ropes was a lot easier than attaching Tyler - she was much lighter and she certainly wasn't as bloody.

Once she was situated as well, he stared in awe at the sight of both his limp puppets hanging from the ceiling, their hands and legs all in his control. A wave of delight ran through his body, and he moaned under his breath at the jovial sensation.

After a full week of preparation, they were finally ready for the show.

He walked out onto the dusty stage in front of the dark audience, the spotlight on him as he attempted to stare at all the faces. His past puppets were there, sitting and watching happily with enticement, along with the other random cluster of people.

What he didn't know, was that his past puppets were actually dead, slumped in the chairs and staring with wide, white eyes and greying skin. They were once handsome boys and beautiful girls with bright futures, but now they were his puppets, and forever they will be.

The other people were wooden puppets, sitting slumped in the chair as well although they weren't decaying, because they were only made of wood, wire and string.

If only The Man knew the difference between flesh and wood.

The audience began to applaud him, and he just stared at the audience with glittering eyes.

"Thank you, thank you," he accepted, his smile never wider as his audience began to roar with an even louder applause, all of them laughing with grinning lips.

The Man wiped his clammy hands on his dress pants before speaking.

"Hello, everyone. And welcome to my Puppet Show."

THE END.