# Puppet

The tears started to flow without a word. The body slowly began to regain consciousness after the primary shock of his current state took a more sinister turn. His mind finally formed that one question he never thought would come first, *How the hell did this happen?* The severity of his situation still somehow left him speechless; his mind couldn’t comprehend the cruel truth, the truth of his fate, a cruel tragedy waiting before him.

*Why does it have to be him?* The question sent an uncontrollable range into his very core, threatening to destroy the smirking face, a desire to wipe out the existence of everything and everyone. The reality shattered again, and with the bubbling range, all he wanted to do was scream, scream at the injustice, scream at the world, scream at his own fate tied to this sickening man who would clearly shape the last moment of his tragic life. But he couldn’t; the duct tape around his mouth was too tight where his own sock was used to seal the words, hands and legs slapped together, tied mercilessly, leaving little to no room for blood circulation. The rope around his neck was the only loose thread, the bastard left on his body, but he could never figure out the twisted reason behind the mercy.

The thrill rushed through every vein of his body, the sound of low sobs, desperate attempts to lose the tight bindings, few drops of tears on the dusty floor, but mostly the deep ocean blue eyes, holding all the hatred, fear, loath and plead, all directed toward *him*. He was in control of the fate of this unfortunate man. *He* would write the story of last few pages and it would be him who would decide where to put the full stop. He didn’t know the man, didn’t know how his life was, where he wanted to go, what were his likes and dislikes, he didn’t even know the name, he couldn’t care less. But it’s the power to mold the fate, the desire to direct the story of an unknown human always pushed him towards an unlimited ecstasy and he loved it, he loved to watch them beg, plead, offer anything and everything, only to live.

He loved *the control*.

He slowly came closer, crouching down to take a good look of his new prey, eyes roaming over the body with desperate hunger, while his mind started to spin the wheel, to come up with thousands of ideas, but the first question was *where to start*.

He looked at the long slender fingers, the soft pointy ears, the rough but at the same time tender jawline, an inviting belly. He could almost feel the squeaky feeling on his hand when the knife would slowly penetrate the stomach and the ecstasy he would feel while pulling it out, the ear would come off without much afford, the elastic substance would be a perfect addition to the trophy list. The fingers, he thought would require some work, but the dramatic display of the action would certainly sooth the hunger. He nodded with satisfaction; the fun would be worth all the trouble. His eyes again travel back to the favorite part, the ocean blue eyes, he couldn’t wait to see the emotions that would consume it shorty, the uncontrollable fear, pain, despise, he couldn’t wait to witness it all, but mostly he couldn’t wait to see the life, slipping slowly, fading all those emotions one by one, he wanted to witness death, a death created by his own will.

With slow pace he walked over to the table placed around the corner of his playroom and picked up one of the sharp knives; the look of pure joy and thrill broke out from his thin lips as he finally addressed the unfortunate man, a cruel fate, waiting to be shaped none other but his majestic hands.

*Shall we begin.*