In the Lives of Puppets

by T.J. Klune

His father, in his infinite wisdom, had built a tree house of sorts, though far grander and more complex than any Vic had ever read about; even more spectacular than ones in books like The Swiss Family Robinson. Six massive trees grew in a vague circle, and all were connected by wooden rope bridges. In the tree to Vic’s left was his father’s lab, the largest of the dwellings built around the king of the forest. The structure on the second tree was Dad’s living quarters, stuffed to the gills with more scraps and tools and books. The highest building in the third tree was a makeshift kitchen, though Vic was the only one who used it. Once a sunroom, it now had a working electric stove and an old table set and chairs covered in carvings of birds and flowers and leaves. In one corner sat a large metal freezer that kept meat Vic had hunted from spoiling. Attached to the kitchen were facilities: a shower with rainwater that never got hot enough and a toilet that Nurse Ratched was far too interested in, especially when she inquired about the consistency of Vic’s bowel movements. He’d tried to explain to her that some things were meant to be private. “So you say,” she’d told him. “But then you will come to me leaking saltwater from your ducts after you have found blood in your stool, and where will you be then?” He hadn’t known how to answer that. The fifth tree held Vic’s own lab, smaller than his father’s, though no less extraordinary. The final tree, to the right of the elevator...