In the Lives of Puppets

by T.J. Klune

“Humanity was lost,” Dad said. “And lonely. I don’t think they even realized just how lonely they were.

Why did they not just speak to each other if they were lonely?” “They did,” Dad said. “Or they tried, at least. But they hated as much as they loved. They feared what they didn’t understand.

Do big animals like to eat vacuums?” “I am sure they do,” Nurse Ratched said. “Oh no,” Rambo whispered. “But I’m a vacuum.”

“They feared each other. Themselves. They judged others for not looking like they did. Selfish, cruel, and worse—indifferent. No civilization can survive indifference. It spreads like a poison, turning fire into apathy, a dire infection whose cure requires more than most are willing to give.

“People singing and dancing and laughing and falling in love. Heaven. Life could be beautiful that way, even as others did their level best to raze everything to the ground. Some devoted their lives to lifting each other up. Still others fired guns in deserts and schools, closed borders against those seeking shelter, enacted rules and laws intended to hurt the most vulnerable.

All we wanted to do was attempt to fix that which they had broken, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“Because I’m yours,” he said. “Like you’re mine.” “Yes.” “Rambo too.” “Yes,” she said. “But that will be the only time I ever agree to such tripe. If you tell anyone else I said that, I will deny it and also remove your intestines.”

I happen to know that employers once did keep their employees in cages called ‘cubicles’!”

You are finite. Your time is already slipping through your fingers. It creates an urgency within you. To do all that you can. To make things right. I wonder what that must feel like, to have a sense of true motivation.”

There must be no greater feeling in the world than to know that this isn’t forever.”

You’re not a puppet. Not anymore. Your strings have been cut.

“And above all else, be brave.”

With all great tasks comes sacrifice.

“Because I breathe, but I can’t catch my breath.”

Quiet this, a solitary moment in an imperfect world where existence did not need to be proven or earned. It just was, and here, in this place, that counted for something. Perhaps everything.