My Puppet Victim

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I have always been a puppet, you can call me that, Puppet. Never in my life have I learned to walk without strings being controlled by the evil puppet masters. I live in a regular world despite being unable to control myself, my eyes are human and bright, I look human and see the world like many others do. Every action I make is just a mimic of all the puppet masters controlling me. At least that is how I see it. I am my own villain, because when you have spent an entire life in a wooden marionette body only to be tossed in the trash and forgotten due to your own actions, it makes it hard to see yourself as a hero. Why should a worn down puppet with no one holding the strings have any motivation to work in some class when she cannot even move …show more content…

Tons of people, all controlling my villain, my new puppet master. My puppet master has tons of her own puppet masters, telling her exactly what to do and say to me. They all thought it was funny when I wanted to die. They all hated me. At that moment everything crumbled, I hear a symphony of out of tune voices all telling me everything I never wanted to know. That was enough. I took the sharpest thing I could find, I needle, and I broke all the strings with it, it took a long while but it eventually worked. Then I shoved the needle in my arm hoping for the worst and yet I woke up hours later still lying on the floor. All the severed strings that used to carry me and hold me up all tied so tightly around me it was suffocating, I could not get them off, but at least no one was controlling them. I had no one, no one wants to deal with puppets, they are too useless, too dumb, too stubborn, to rude. It all circulated in my head for months. I could never focus because all I knew is that I was so close to smashing my wooden doll body to pieces and the world did not care. It is all I thought about, not English, nor whatever assignment about Canadian history or feminism. I could not …show more content…

I tried, it felt as if my leg should move when I tried to bend it but it would not move. After 45 minutes I tried once again, I could move a toe. I gradually got enough strength to call in my absence for the day. I did not eat all day, nor did I sit up or do anything. The strings had finally gotten too tight, my mind could not handle it alone any more, my body took some of the struggle too. In the silence of an entire day without motion I had too much time to think, and think, and think. I was tired of being my own villain. It was time for me to be my own damn hero if it kills me. I mustered all the strength I had and I screamed and cried and ripped off all those horrible strings until there were none left. I could move

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