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Puppet Dance

In a land made of wood, glass and clay, there was girl, a puppet master, with a disarming laugh and smile. She was beautiful, anyone could see that, and she was charming too. To this day, I couldn't tell you if her friendliness was fake or not, but I can tell you that behind her oh so convincing mask, there hid a storm. I feel sorry for the girl, because this storm was a sad one, a storm like the ones that rip apart the waves of the ocean, but only out of sorrow, and out of fear. I feel sorry for her, because one day, she could be written down in history, and they will see past her mask, and mistake her storm for one made out of cruelty, instead of one made out tears. This girl was damaged, yes, but she was powerful, and that is not a combination you ever want to see.

For she was a puppet master, and excellent at her craft. One word from her, one flash of that amazing smile, and anyone would bend to her will. She had a set of puppets, each one beautiful and unique. Each one loved her, and each one would do anything for her. But these puppets were not her's to keep, and not her's to manipulate on strings they never saw. They never realized how she played them, how they were dancing to her tune. None of them remembered the lives that had been torn from before the girl. They only knew how happy it made her when they were by her side, and her fingers were on their strings. And everyone, everyone in this world wanted to make this girl happy.

There was one puppet in particular who I admire. She, unlike many of the puppets, had never had a life away from the master. She had grown up under those pretty eyes, and had always, always, danced to the girl's will. She was the one who was expected to love the girl the most, to love her like a sister. Yet, she was the one who broke free first. The puppet master had simply just expected the puppet to always be there. She took her for granted, and thought that no matter what, the puppet would always return, no matter what she did. So, the puppet became her venting point, which wasn't bad at first. But after a while, the venting turned into something else. The girl took her anger at the world out on the puppet, unleashing the storm on the fragile wood. She called her weak and useless, everything she was afraid she herself was. The puppet however was strong. She didn't fail or fall under this relentless flow of words. Instead she was there to dry up the girl's tears, and quietly go and dance after. Sooner or later though, limits will break. After years and years of restlessness and torment, the puppet had enough. The little girl made of wood had turned into a woman made of steel and stardust, and she had always been stronger then given credit for. So, she tore off her strings, finally realizing they were there, and went to dance to her own music.

Another reason why I feel bad for the girl, is because she never even knew she had wronged her loyal puppet, who she had considered a sister.

One by one, the other puppets realized how they were being played. How their lives had been manipulated until they were not even their own, but an extension of the puppet master's. Slowly, the memories of the music before the soft voice of the girl came back. They pulled off their strings, tugging them off without a second thought, and ran back to their own adventures, back to the people they had forgotten. They spun and laughed as they left, and were startled by the sound of their own voices. Their own voices after all these years of being...Well, puppets. But the puppet master was not left alone, because there was one puppet who stayed.

He was a little boy puppet, small for his years, but always bursting with happiness. He stayed with the girl, maybe so she would not be alone, maybe because he never even saw the strings. I would bet on the latter. She was grateful, make no mistake, because this puppet was dear to her. So, he remained deaf to the events around him, concentrating only on dancing for the girl, because her laugh was such wonderful thing to hear. But, it was a great tragedy that he never heard what was going on around him, because, the ones who loved him, who had loved him before the girl, were trying to get him back.

One in particular tugged at the strings the hardest.

She was a little glass doll, with a heart of gold that shone out through her glass chest. The boy puppet had always held a place in that heart, and it pained her to see him like this. She would pleadingly grab his hand, but he would shake her away, unaware that he was even doing so, or that she was there. She would try to talk to him, but his wooden ears were deaf to anything but the puppet master's magic. She would cry little glass tears, and he would step on them. That was the only time he acknowledged her, to look down at his feet, where the tears had splintered. He would glance into her eyes for a moment, and then turn away, and continue to dance. But, she treasured those moments, so she cried, again and again, breaking her heart over and over so he would look her in the eyes.

But she didn't give up.

Others wondered how a girl made of glass could be that strong. But she wasn't just any glass. She was made of something unbreakable, shatterproof, something fearsome when angered. She was made of sand burned and melted, with pain almost unbearable, but stronger then ever in the end. She was also headstrong, and as much as her friends urged her to move on, she never would. She would wait for the boy forever if need be, until he realized that the song he was dancing to was not his own. The stardust puppet would wait with her, and countless others to who had broken away from the puppet master.

The glass girl had a wonderful voice. Clear, strong, and beautiful, like a morning sky. But, that beautiful voice was never enough to tear the boy puppet away. It just couldn't compete with the voice of the puppet master.

And so, the puppet continued to dance.

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I originally published this story on fictionpress. (Same author, just so everyone knows, I did not steal it.)

Peace and Pixies,

~Pixies Between The Pages

2: Remember, Come Back

My mind is foggy, and I can't think very well. I know she would say, "Figures. Your head is made out of wood, idiot." But I don't remember who 'she' is. Someone who used to tease me I think, and she hugged me sometimes too. Sometimes I almost hear her laugh. I remember a beautiful voice, like a blue sky after the moon has gone away. I don't remember who the voice belongs too, and most times, I don't even think of these little things at all. Because most times, I am dancing.

I dance for the girl, the puppet master, who watches above me, and smiles. There used to be quite alot of us, but they all left, one by one, and I don't know why. I do know it broke the girl's heart and I never want to see her sad. She has let me dance for her all these years, and she had been my friend. I think I am one of the only ones who has seen her heart, which looks like a stormy sea, or a tear drop. I feel bad for her, because no one understands her, or how much she cries when no one is looking. No one but me. So I must stay. Why wouldn't I?

There was no life before the puppet master, at least none I can recall. All there has ever been is her, and her smile, and her voice, playful and happy. All there has ever been is the dance, the jumping and the spinning. When all of us were here, we used to do group, or partner dances to make her laugh. I gather that it amused her when we spun each other around, and even when we fell over each other.

She just stands there, every hour, every minute, every second, her fingers playing a tune I can't hear, in the air. She tells me it is to keep time, so I can dance, and I believe her, because there is no other reason. Sometimes she sings, and her voice fills the air, and I spin even better. Her voice is beautiful, but unlike the other voice I sometimes think I remember. The other voice is like morning, clear, and blue, and innocent. The puppet master's voice is like twilight, tragic, stormy, but delicate all the same. Ever since the others left, her voice has gotten even sadder, and I find myself hating them for leaving her like this.

There was one puppet in particular that she loved, but was the first to leave. She was a girl puppet, and the master treated her like a sister. They were always together, and the master always kept a special eye on the girl. I don't see how the girl could have lived better, for the master loved her, and that wasn't something everybody got to experience. We were friends, me and the girl puppet. I've known her a long time. A very long time in fact, and sometimes, I think I knew her before I knew the master. Then I remind myself, there was nothing before the master.

After the girl puppet left, the master didn't sing for days. And when she did, her voice sounded like rain. I was mad at the puppet then, because she had everything, but she left, and broke the heart of someone who loved her. I could see, even after that, that the master was broken, though she kept on like nothing had happened. I saw the tears that slipped out sometimes, and I felt her falter in the music, when she would glance over where the girl puppet should have been. Where she really should have been.

There were others the master was close to. Two other girl puppets, and a boy. The four of us, we were the ones who saw the master's heart. She showed it to us only after many years, but I saw that it was gentle, and sad. Like a tragic lullaby. But soon after the girl puppet-who the rest had taken to calling the stardust puppet- left, the others did as well. Then it was just me who knew the secrets of the master's heart. Just me, and I was the one who saw it break, piece by piece. And it was me who stayed, who tried to put it back together.

Not many know why the master's heart is so stormy, but I do. The stardust puppet and I, we were there when it happened. Many others had witnessed it, and stood, whispering, but none of them really knew how it had made her feel, or what had actually occurred. They just gossiped and speculated.

Once, there was another boy puppet, the only the puppet that the master had given a name. He was called Lyall meaning loyal, not that he deserved the name in the end. He was one of us once upon a time, but bit by bit, the master fell in love with him. He loved her back for a while, and she was happy, which made all of us happy. But soon, he started drifting away from her, and eventually told her they weren't meant to be. This shattered our master's heart in two, and she coldly let him go. He was the one to turn her calm sea of a heart into a crying ocean.

The stardust puppet used to have strange ideas, like, "Boy puppet...What if there was a life...Outside of the dance?" I would brush her off, because such a thought is ridiculous, but the more I thought about it, the more real the possibility became. Where had the morning voice come from? Why couldn't I get it out of my head? Why did I have a feeling there was someone who teased me, and hugged me?

And why did I associate the idea with the colour gold?

I couldn't deny I did it. Every time I think of that voice, the colour flashes behind my eyelids, along with a sarcastic smile, and a laugh. Sometimes, I feel something at my arm, but when I look, there is nothing. I used to just try to forget about it, but sometimes, things just don't add up. Where did the other puppets go? If there was no life outside the dance, did they choose death over being with the master? If they did, why?

Something else strange happens sometimes. I'm dancing for the master when I feel something breaking against my foot, and I look down. There, at my feet, are shards of glass, and they seem strangely familiar. Then, when I look up, I catch a glimpse of gold and brown. Then, it's gone, and all I can hear is the music. Where does the glass come from?

Now, here I am, standing in front of the master. She has stopped singing to glance at me puzzled.

"Puppet boy, why did you stop dancing?" Her voice is more like an ocean then ever today,and I feel like I will drown. Instead, I gulp down my fears, and speak.

"Master, I have questions. Where did the others go? Why do I find glass at my feet, and why do I feel a tugging at my arms?" Now she is just looking at me, curious, and while there is a break in the dance, I hear voices calling to me.

"Come back!" They are saying. "Come back!" There is one in particular, shouting the loudest, almost sobbing. "Come back! Please come back!" That is when I realize it. That voice is the morning voice, and suddenly, I have memories to connect it to.

There was a girl with dark eyes and hair, with bright clay wings on her back. I remember her just watching everything, with that curious, amused look in her eyes. Every now and then she would jot things down in the book she always carried. When I asked her why, she would wink and say, "Birds are curious creatures you know." Yes, her name was Bird. And someday, she said she would write a story of us, and she only wished it would be a happy one.

I remember another girl, always beside her, who had smiling eyes. She always had a kind word for you, and the thing you remembered most about her was the bright flowers woven through her hair. Because that was her name, Flower. She was made out of tin, and she was fierce despite her compassion. She used to flick me on my head with a shake of her long black hair.

Then...There was always another girl with them. Her, I remember the least, but also the most. She was made of glass, with a heart of literal gold beating her chest. She wasn't fragile as others would assume, and she had her share of hardships. Just because she was made of glass did not make her see through. She was better at keeping a secret then anyone. She had warm brown eyes, and a sarcastic grin. She used to slap me upside the head, but also tease me, and hug me. She used to wonder if my wooden head was what made me dense. I remember the glass girl, and I now realize she was the one shedding the glass tears.

There were countless others too. Made of paper, metal, clay, wood. We all stuck together, and we were all close. I know now that I used to watch the dance. The puppet master was there, and look, she was pulling their strings. She was controlling them, and they didn't know it. The glass girl, the clay girl, and the tin girl, used the watch the stardust puppet with me. They would comment on how she was too good for this. She never heard us. None of them did, because when you were part of the dance, you were deaf to anything but the master.

I was picked up by the master one day, just plucked out of my life, and set on the stage with strings being attached to me. The glass girl had screamed and tried to run after us. She called to me, but it was too late, and that was the last thing I remembered before everything went dark, and I entered the foggy maze that became one with your mind when you joined the dance.

I look up horrified at the master. She had been playing with us, with me, the whole time.

"Why would you-" I start, already backing away, trying to tear off the strings.

She looks at me quizzically and opens her mouth. Before I know it, she has begun to sing again, her voice like a dose of sleeping medicine, or like a blanket, enveloping me. The morning voice and the glass girl are starting to fade away, no matter how much I fight. I'm falling under the spell again, and there is nothing I can do. As much as I want to stay, as much as I want to run back, and tear off the strings, I can't. And, as much as I want to hate the master, I can't do that either. I still know what's in her heart, and I can't help but feel sorry for her.

Once she is done her melody, she asks, "Why would I do what?"

I can't remember what she did. What had I been doing? I simply shake my head, and prepare to go on dancing. But, just as I am about to start, I feel something at my feet. Glass. More then there had ever been before. Shards and shards and more shards of broken glass. I look up, and caught a glance of brown and gold. Then, I see the pastel colours of flowers, and the bright, bright colours of wings.

A voice hisses from somewhere, though I don't know where, and says, "You idiot. You're just going to keep breaking her heart aren't you?" Then there is a flick to my head.

I feel something solid and heavy hit my arm. "I told you, I told you." This voice sounds like it is going to cry. "I told you I wanted a happy story. Now look at this, this isn't happy." My mind is whirring. Where are these voices coming from?

Then comes a voice, as clear as morning, but tired, very tired. "Don't bother. It won't get through his thick wooden skull. Come on, let's go..." I find that something snapped just then. I want to reach out and stop the voice from leaving. I want to say that I wouldn't break her heart anymore, and that I would try for a happy ending. But instead, my feet find their positions, and I continue my dance.

But, unlike before, the fog has lifted from my brain. I know where I am. I know who I am. And I know I want to get back. So, maybe one day, one day, I'll find the strength to tear off these strings. Maybe I'll go home and find the glass girl waiting for me. The clay girl too, and the tin one, waiting to thump me upside the head for trying her patience for so long.

Until then, I'll dance.

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WHOOO. Okay, some notes.

At one point, I almost cracked up, when the stardust puppet is saying, "Boy puppet. What if there's a life outside blah blah." Because none of them have names inside the dance so what if they're just like, "Boy puppet. No, not you. The other. Boy puppet #4." And I just. Okay, ignore me.

Also, on a more serious note, note how the boy puppet is proud to be that close to the master. Also note he can't even find it in himself to hate her in the end. I dislike her,honestly, but I can't hate her either.

(Originally posted on fictionpress. )

~Pixies Between The Pages

And, if it wasn't obvious the narrator from the last chapter is the clay Bird girl.

So, satisfactory ending? I think it's quite good, because it gives me enough tragedy, while also supplying the possibility for a happy ending.