Puppet Show

And like a puppet, a smile remains plastered upon my face to give a façade of happiness; an essence of normality... As I`m maneuvered around the stage of high school, the strings pull tighter...

I am a puppet constructed to appear as an adolescent; a student. I’m directed through the production of High School by puppet masters that dangle strings of guidance as a method of entertainment. My strings are in a knot; twisted, tight and tangled. They are maneuvered by hands that are supposed to guide gently, but in actuality, tug harshly at the ropes that restrain me. The strings whisper words of wisdom as they whip to and fro. “Requirements… credit… deadlines… applications” they whisper. Each string is attached to a movement I should pursue; a person I should become. One pulls me left, the other tugs right, and this confuses my entire being. It shifts me into an entanglement that restricts me even more than before. The strings are like knives, cutting through my skin, sawing through my flesh. Blood, sweat and tears transform my porcelain skin into a canvas and paints my body. And like a puppet, a smile remains plastered upon my face to give a façade of happiness; an essence of normality.

They, the puppeteers, believe that the tighter they pull, the better the show will be, as though the chains will provide me with the means of becoming a human. They have an audience to impress. Loyal spectators that appreciate a conservative show. So I prance across the stage, to the demands of my puppet masters, to present the audience with the things they want to see; academics, involvement and pride in the school. The audience sits upon the edge of their seat awaiting the famous transformation, from puppet to human, and the puppeteer will not fail in this task. They will whip the strings that force my fragile body through the play, regardless of my capabilities.

The illusion behind the entire production is that it appears that I am moving independently. Functioning as though the decisions and actions are my own. However, truth reveals that the only motivation behind my participation in the performance is to transition into becoming a real human. An independent, self-sufficient human. The only way to start this transition is to severe the strings that connect me to them. They believe it is their guidance that will release my from my puppet mentality when it is really my willpower that will release me from the torture of being captive.

And as I`m maneuvered around the stage of high school, the strings pull tighter and tighter, cutting off the circulation of my limbs and chocking the air out of my lungs. Until, after the anger and the frustration, the stress and the fear, the emotional roller coaster that had consumed my life is released and I am allowed to breathe in deeply. The tension from my shoulders fades away and I take a moment to embrace the nothingness. My performance is done, I`ve been kicked off the stage. As I throw a silk cap into the air, I exit the stage that had once contained me. The strings that had once held me in their firm grasp and had clawed away at my sanity now lie lifeless, preparing to attach to their new prey. They’re prepared to continue the show with younger talent, but I’m ready to take full advantage of my new acclaimed freedom; the freedom to venture into this world and be human.

The weightlessness that I feel, as I walk down the pavement ready to begin my life, feels strange. I almost miss the security of the ropes. But I know as I walk into the sunlight that I walk for myself, I breathe for myself and I will pursue the happiness of myself.

Reviews

[Jack Wolfe]

A marionette controlled by too many puppeteers, great metaphor, so many decision, so much advice, which direction to go, do I have a say? Of course not, any decision will disappoint. If I cut the binds that restrict my limbs, I'll be free, but loathed, left alone. If you are indeed in High-school or just out, these are understandable complexities, and honest, also if you are just out, or still in, I'm impressed, most young writers don't have the ability to transform words into literary form. Well done.