The Living Puppets

Introduction

The old man tried to keep his eyes open for fear of what might come. Sitting on the couch listening to the television blaring the boisterous voice of the infomercial pitchman, he tried to fight off the dry stick of his eyelids. Too many nights had he fallen victim to his own dreams, with each night being worse than the last, yet each night equally as terrifying. Tonight the old man vowed not to allow himself to fall into the slumber land torture, a vow he had made six days prior, and a vow he has kept up until now.

His silver lined head jogged back lazily then he jerked back up. He slapped his wrinkled face with a sweaty and nervous palm to try to keep himself alert. How long would he have to keep this up for? How long would he have to forfeit sleep? Why was this being done to him? Was he going crazy? The old man stood, but was met with wobbly knees and immediately sunk back into his tattered cushions. He was going to loose this battle tonight.

The old man eventually could not fight any longer, his will was strong, but his body had needs. His dream awed eyes looked around the pleasant orchard of his youth. Apple trees in colorful blossom and a fresh autumn smells that teased the nose. It was his utopia, but his encounters over the last six weeks had conditioned him to grow weary. Any minute now his bliss would fade; he knew it.

He strolled withered bones over the crisp grass and admired the sights that he had longed for, and then he saw the sight that he had dreaded. That man, that same man. From all the other nights, he would appear in every dream and chase, and maim, and kill. There he was standing with his mop of thick black locks obscuring half his face. He did not look terribly menacing, but he was ruthless; disposition can be very misleading.

It has been a while, the tall gangly dark haired masochist hissed. I feel like you have been avoiding me. He smiled a crooked grin.

Leave me alone. I need to sleep. I am on edge. I can not live like this. Please.

I already explained that I will leave you if you agree to the stipulations, the man delivered his words very thoughtfully and slightly condescending.

I have been screwing up at work. Trying to film a show and I drop the camera. Those things are expensive. If it broke then I would be liable for it and I would be out of a job.

Job? Money? The man raised his voice and tensed his jaw. This is more important than monetary possessions. This is bigger than you or I. The man took a step forward and wrapped his long terrible hands around the throat of the already pleading man.

Falling to his knees and gasping for the sweet orchard air, his life slowly drained out of him and he woke. Out of breath and covered in sweat the old man lunged up and narrowly missed knocking over his lamp; a relic of his late wife. Every time the old man slept he would die. Without fail, the black haired man would kill him and no murder was twice the same. Why? What did he do to deserve this? What did he want anyway?

The old man let his tears stream and decided that the only way to end the suffering would be to face his tormentor and give in. The old man would do his bidding. The old man would be his slave; anything for a good nights rest.

Where are We 1

He could feel again, but was not sure exactly what he was feeling. Confused more than anything; that is what he was feeling. He raised his head and stared at the vast nothingness before him; where was he? He looked down at his leather jacket and felt around it to see if he was in one piece; he was.

Hello, he called out, and his own voice echoed and boomed in a way that made him uncomfortable; almost as if his voice was not his. He brushed back his hair and spun around to sense that he was no longer alone.

Hello, a large dark skinned woman grinned, which caused him to jump backwards from the shock of her sudden appearance.

Where are we? He asked once he judged her to be no threat and he continued looking around for something; anything.

Not sure, but I have a good idea, she smiled again and puffed out her dress to check for wrinkles. I have a feeling that you may know where we are also.

I reckon something happened to you too? He said with hesitation in his voice.

Sadly it is so, she sighed and let her arms slump.

Tell me, worry rang through his voice, were you a good person?

Razor 1

The air was silent and peaceful, not a care in the world for Jack Lerou as he readied himself before the thirty foot stretch of smoothed wood in front of him. He leaned back on his seat, making sure to keep his balance and raised an arm in the air. Clamoring for attention like he did every performance he was welcomed with an explosion of cheers and applause. Instant gratification. He looked around one last time at the banners that hung with his stage name and catch phrase plastered on them, Livin' on the Edge, the Razor's Edge. Razor lowered his protective eye covering in the form of a visor and revved his engine; the crowd retaliated with more enthusiasm. Focused and taking in a deep breath, Razor let loose the kick stand, descended the incline at incredible speeds and before long he glided above it all.

Chloe 1

The modest Bronx home of the Dedon's smelled of freshly baked cookies. The irresistible wafts of melted chocolate and brown sugar traveled out of the oven, through the small cluttered kitchen, into the sparsely furnished living room, up the creaking staircase, and into each of the nostrils of the boys in their rooms. Almost as if being drawn by a force, which they essentially were, they rose and drew closer to the source of the bouquet.

Well, well, well, I knew that would get your attention, Chloe said as four of her five sons stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Chloe Dedon adjusted her plaid red apron and set aside her oven mitt she had just used to rescue the cookies before they over cooked.

Moms, you are the best, Rutger said as he reached for the sheet, but retreated his hand sharply when it was met with a swift palm.

Now now, Ruty, Chloe reprimanded, they are much to hot. You will burn the fingerprints right off your hand.

How long? Scott asked as he slapped his brother upside the head.

How long 'till what? Chloe asked, knowing very well what her second eldest boy was asking, but decided to throw a speech lesson into the afternoon.

How long until the cookies will be cool enough to eat mother, Scott Dedon restructured his question.

Ten minutes on the wire rack, Chloe nodded approvingly. Chloe loved her boys and afternoon cookies were a common display of her willingness to bring smiles to their faces. She just wished she could have cooked for all five of her boys like she had been able to do three years earlier, but unfortunately, that was no longer an option.

Razor 2

The barrage of flickering lights were almost blinding, but what did he care, there was no one on the road in front of him, in fact there was no road in front of him, nor beneath him; he was an eagle. Why would Razor care that everyone who came to see him left with a little memento in the form of a mid flight capture? He would say he did not care, but he did, he loved his local celebrity status; he was an Alabama treasure.

Razor's front tire to his motorcycle made first contact with the landing ramp and with the calm of a professional, Razor, as he had done thousands of times before, brought the bike to a steady halt. The vehicle of Razor's fame now stood orthogonal to the jump and the leather clad icon dismounted and stripped off his helmet; his fans deserved to see his face.

With his stubbly face and smug smile plastered up on the jumbo-tron, Jack Lerou received what he was after, the chant; oh how he loved the chant. They started with a slow drawn out Razor's, with special emphasis on the 'z' and followed it with a hard hitting Edge. This is what heaven must feel like Razor thought as he closed his eyes and took in the praise.

Willie 1

William, do you know the answer? Professor Ekhart asked.

Why does he always ask me, Willie Schvine thought, and then cringed at the name William before he forgot it was mentioned. Willie, hated William, William was his fathers name, and his father was the one person in his life that he never wanted to be reminded of. What was the question anyway? Willie tried to think back to what he was doing prior to being called out, but he was off day dreaming of the party. Huh? What answer?

Bacon, Tom Scalzo leaned over to whisper in Willie's ear. He asked why you’re such a douche.

No he didn't, Willie shoved his fraternal brother back into his seat while Tom cackled like a ghoul. He didn't ask that, Willie assured himself. Teachers can't say that can they?

Mr. Schvine, why bother coming to class if you do not pay attention? Professor Ekhart decided to change to an easier question, one he hoped Willie had an answer for.

Because you love seeing my smiling face, Willie grinned to accompany his facetious comment, his round cheeks tightening into balls at the corners of his mouth.

As true as that may be, Professor Ekhart gave a little chuckle, you are here to learn, and I am here to pass on my infinite knowledge of the world and economics on to you. William, do you have any goals in life?

Yea, party tonight, Willie stood up and pumped his fist. You're invited prof.

Where are We 2

The younger man and the older woman standing in the vast nothingness allowed the eerie silence to grip them while they let it all sink in. They looked at one another and their expressions said more than words ever could. She was calm and complacent, he was worried and a hint of frustration came and went as if you could tell he was replaying the last scene of his life over and over in his mind.

Before long their silence was broken when they were joined by a third member, a man younger than the previous man by about ten years. He was stocky, but not necessarily fat, just a larger individual. His nose curled up along the tip and his face was plagued with freckles.

What the funk? The new arrival screamed and he stumbled on one leg before he caught his balance and returned his second sneaker to what he assumed the ground to be.

You too, the woman said. So young, what a shame.

Where am I? The young man demanded, frantically flailing about and trying to see what was around him, but came up with zilch.

My name is Chloe, the woman introduced in a soothing manner and gentle voice. What is your name?

Bacon, I mean William, I mean Willie Schvine ma'am, he fumbled for clarity in his mind, but was not fortunate enough to be granted such a favor. Seriously, what the funk is going on?

What do you think happened buddy? The man in the leather jacket clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. Just another god damn statistic.

Not the proper time to be using such profanity, Chloe reprimanded in a sweet but stern voice.

So everything that just happened really happened? Willie asked heartbroken.

Afraid so kid, the man in the leather jacket showed some compassion in his voice. You go by William or Willie?

Willie, Willie replied.

The name is Jack Lerou, but everyone knows me as Razor.

Razor 3

Great jump, shouted a young, blond haired vixen of a woman as she threw herself into Razor's arms as he appeared victoriously backstage; the crowds muffled cheer still audible through the noise of commotion. She wore short cutoff jean shorts with tattered edges displaying the full extent of her luxurious legs, a tight white tank top, and a florescent green bra that was visible from underneath her top, and at first glance she could have easily been mistaken as a groupie looking to get lucky with the local legend, but this was not the case, she was Jesse Scant.

Scant was the surname Jesse had grown up with and every time she heard it she was reminded of her beloved late father, Abraham Scant, a man whom she adored, and in such she loved her last name, but she was willing to part with it. She was willing to swap it for one name in particular, Lerou, and it was her not so secret desire for some time, now so more than ever.

Thanks babe, Razor leaned in and kissed his girlfriend, hugging her with one arm while using the other to unzip his padded leather jacket.

Nailed the landing, Jesse said with admiration and lust in her eyes.

Thinking about nailing something else, Jack tossed his jacket aside and embraced his girl with both arms.

Samson 1

Samson Green was woken from his disturbed slumber by the immense pain that swelled in his head. His brain felt like it was going to start to leak out of his ears soon. Why was he in so much pain? He staggered out from under his sweat soaked sheets and slumped against his bathroom door frame. A fistful of the pain relievers that were left next to his sink made its way towards his mouth and Samson swallowed the dry pills.

He knew the pills would take effect soon to help to dull the pain, but nothing could make it go away. He had been having nightmares so vivid of his dead brother. His night terrors had kept him awake for almost a month, with sparse naps here and there when his body simply shuts down. His naps were what he feared and he had just gotten out of one. His brother spoke to him again, his brother made requests, his brother threatened.

Willie 2

Hey Bacon, how much Bud we got back at the house? Tom Scalzo asked.

We got two kegs Bruiser, Willie answered as he placed two additional cases into their shopping cart. Can never have two much beer dude.

This party is gonna rock Bacon, Tom held up his hand for a display of camaraderie, which was met by Willie's hand almost immediately. You know Charger invited Zeta Phi Beta, and those bitches are smokin' hot.

I invited this chick who sits next to me in business law, Willie shot a wicked smirk towards his fraternal brother. She finally caved. She had been shooting down all my invites, but persistence pays off man. Tonight will be the night. She is so freakin' doable.

Tom said no words but let his hands do all the talking. The two high fived again in aisle three.

Susan 1

She stood in the shower and although she had clearly rinsed off all remnants of soap about ten minutes ago, Susan Farnsworth still did not want to face what waited for