The Man (Puppet Boy Prequel)

15.

THOMAS stared at himself in the mirror.

He had just returned from going to visit his creator in prison. Being released from his group home meant freedom - freedom to do whatever he wanted; it was basically a free opportunity to finally see his creator.

But eight years after separation, Thomas instead learned that his creator had passed away years before.

He was devastated.

His eyes were bloodshot and his face - he didn't look anything like his creator. It frustrated him, he couldn't stand the fact that he didn't look exactly like him. He even attempted to grow out a wispy beard, but it still wasn't right.

And holding the knife in his hand, blood dripping from the tip of it and slipping down the crease of his hands and fingers, he learned that carving the exact wrinkles in his face didn't exactly work either.

His face was instead coated in dark crimson. His hand shook at the sight of it and the knife fell to the ground with a clatter, echoing throughout the spacious room. He was an ugly disgrace to his creator, but his puppet show would make up for it.

"I'm so sorry," Thomas whispered into the dirt-smudged reflection, his fingers trembling at his sides. "I'm so, so sorry, my creator."

No matter what he did, he couldn't capture his creator's hooded eyes, his puffy cheeks, his small mouth, the precisely trimmed wisps of hair that surrounded his lips, the wrinkles that gathered at the edges of his smile and the corners of his eyebrows.

If he couldn't look like his creator, he couldn't look like anybody.

His fingers curled around the edge of the white mask that he had on the floor and he slipped it over his face. He hoped that as he aged he would begin to look as handsome as his creator, but for now, he was not good enough.

He continued to stand in front of the mirror, the room holding a deafening silence that made his ears ring.

Until he heard the nagging screams again.

Thomas groaned under his breath as he adjusted the ivory disguise on his face. He wiped the maroon liquid that gathered between his fingers on the sides of his dark pants, his palms beginning to sweat and his heartbeat accelerating. He always got nervous before going to see his creations, because he wanted to be the best he could for them. He loved them so much, his heart swelled at the mere thought of his very first Puppet Girl and Puppet Boy sitting in the room opposite from him.

He opened the heavy cell door and allowed himself into the hallway, the still and demolished hallway. The years of abandonment showed, with scattered parts of desks and huge holes created only by the thickest coating of mould littering the narrow area.

He was so happy to have found such a place! His creator would be so proud.

The cries were getting louder and louder, and when he opened the door, the dim light from the hallway poured in and illuminated the alluring face of his Puppet Girl.

She sobbed into her knees, her eyes staring up at him as she shook vigorously in the very corner of the room. Her eyes - God, they took his breath away. He was enticed by the way he could see how large her pupils were in comparison to the thin circle of green that surrounded them.

Each time he saw them, he remembered the first time he looked into them the night she took him from his creator. He wasn't angry at her, he was instead elated that she was no longer using her beauty for menacing purposes, but she was using her beauty to perform.

And Jennifer Grey was no longer Jennifer Grey, but she was Puppet Girl, and forever she would be.

"Please stop, you are not okay. You're not okay," she tried to talk to him, her voice trembling with each word as he knelt in front of her. "I can help you. I- I can get you help."

"Stop it," he whispered, his fingers gently threading through her thick ebony hair. Staring at it made his body shudder with excitement - he couldn't wait to see what it would look like shimmering beneath the heated lights of the stage. "You're nervous, and that's okay."

He pressed his lips to the apple of her cheek. He could taste the salt of her blood smudged on it, caked in the white makeup. He knew that he would have to fix that later.

"You're fucking psychotic!" he heard his Puppet Boy yell from the other side of the room, his voice cracking and faltering beneath the mock courageousness he tried to mask his fear with.

Thomas couldn't see him, but he knew that he was there, tied up in the other corner of the room where the weak hallway light failed to reach. He looked in his direction with a smile hidden beneath his mask.

"Excuse me, Puppet Boys do not swear," Thomas explained in a dangerously low tone, his eyes locked on the outline of the masculine and handsome young adult in the corner.

"You're not going to get away with this," Puppet Boy said, and Thomas could hear his struggle as he hit into the wall over and over. He saw himself in his young Puppet Boy, which made him tap his fingers against the side of his leg with excitement.

"Help!" His Puppet Girl suddenly screamed out, her cry blood-curdling and making his ears drum with discomfort. Thomas angrily grabbed her wrists and shoved her against the wall as she continued to scream.

"Help, somebody!"

"Nobody is going to hear you," he told her, as she tried desperately to force her torso away from him. Her arms and legs were entirely limp as well as tied up, and Thomas knew that all he needed to do was make her realize how much she needed him.

He smiled, a muffled chuckle coming from his mask as he watched her.

"I love you so, so much, my beautiful Puppet Girl..." he gushed quietly, his eyes welling with tears as he tightened his grip on her wrist. "I love you so much."

Her eyes were filled with fear and tears, watching in utter disturbance as he kissed her cheek again.

"Thomas?" his Puppet Girl asked casually.

He recoiled, confused.

"What?" He couldn't allow her to think she could call her creator by his name...

"Thomas? Hello, Thomas?"

He snapped out of his daydream to find Jennifer Grey standing there, with her hand on her hips. It was good that she didn't notice him tampering with her car, because it had just broken down on the side of the road and she was in need of assistance. And thankfully, she remembered him, too, from when she had taken him from his creator, and trusted him.

She stared at him expectantly, the dark night behind her blending with her thick black hair which sparkled in the moonlight as she stood in front of her red car. He stared down at her petite frame, remembering what he needed to do.

She was around twelve years older than him, but that didn't matter to him. He could still recreate her, and make her into a puppet so pure, so beautiful that the audience will have no idea what hit them.

"You can do this," his creator's voice whispered in his ear. Thomas just stood in front of her, nervously playing with the hem of his t-shirt and ignoring the wind which nipped at his uncovered skin. "You will be a wonderful creator."

Thomas' mouth went dry as he blinked and stared back at Jennifer. "What?"

"You said you would give me a ride to the gas station?" she mumbled in a questioning tone, bringing her hair behind her ear. "It's okay if you can't, but-"

"Oh, right," he grinned to mask his apprehensiveness, his fingers curling into clammy fists. "Let's... let's go."

Jennifer instantly smiled, breathing in relief. "Oh, thank you so much. You're a life-saver, I'm so happy you turned out to be such a wonderful young man."

He walked beside her to his car, the grin never leaving his lips.

He knew she was going to make a beautiful Puppet Girl. He could already feel it.

THE END.