In the Lives of Puppets

by T.J. Klune

He’d read every book Dad had brought to this place—more than once—old stories of kings and queens in castles, of adventures on the high seas in great ships with flags billowing in the salty air, of people going to the stars and getting lost in the vast expanse of the universe. They were ghosts, but he did not feel haunted by them. The world beyond the forest was an unknowable thing, and though curiosity tugged at him every now and then, Victor was stronger than it was. He had a home, a purpose, a lab all his own, and friends that loved him for who he was, not what he wasn’t. Loneliness wasn’t a concept he understood, not really, not like his father had when he’d first come to the forest. He, like Dad, was an inventor. If he needed someone—something—new to talk to, all he had to do was make it. He had the parts. He’d done it with Nurse Ratched, and then with Rambo. He could do it again, if need be. Some of the old books told stories of people yearning for more and setting off to find it and themselves. Vic always thought they were silly that way. He never wanted to go far from home.