Collection Of 500 Word Stories

A collection of 500 word stories I have written, from 2013 through to now. I would appreciate it if you could write which of the stories you like the most in the comments, if you wouldn't mind. Thanks for reading.

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1. The Puppet and the Puppeteer

I was a puppet, along with thousands of others of my kind. But that was all we ever were. Marionettes, bound by string, controlled by the puppeteer of whom created us. At the slightest movements of his hands, he could manipulate us and in his possession was the power to end us all, forcing us with no other option but to comply. Immediately. Without hesitation. Of course there were some who, because of his power, because of his supremacy, admired him. To us, his mere creations, he was a God.

I, however, hated him. I loathed every commandment he bestowed on us, as though we were merely toys he could discard as he pleased, and repulsed his conceit as he deemed himself as superior. Yet beyond anything else, I hated myself, because I knew it was true. Still, I never objected his rule, fearing his authority. I showed only satisfaction, a false pretence. No matter how great my desire to rebel, how much his vanity filled me with rage, I did nothing. Because I’d already seen it. I’d caught a glimpse of reality.

To some who’d shared my ideals he’d have been a hero. But I knew. He was only a sacrifice. Not for us. For God. Him, and his laws. The man had been like me, once. He hated it, everything he’d lived for. So, he chose to rebel. I had been there, watching in awe. He, who cut the string that bound him and his master of his own accord, severing himself from the cruelty of the wooden posts that confined his freedom and thus, attaining it. Freedom. No longer detained by the strings that enslaved him. Shackles lifted, he fell from the grasps of God, reaching the sky below the darkening clouds that obscured the future we’d once dreamed of. He must’ve seen it then. A blue sky. He’d reached out. But as liberty was within his embrace, his wings shattered and, as a fallen angel shall, returned to the nothingness he once was.

Even if he’d survived nothing would’ve changed. He was no longer a puppet, but an empty shell, for a puppet is nothing if the puppeteer cannot control its strings. At least, for a few, brief moments, he’d reached it. Freedom. But I realised it then, as though it had been God himself whispering the very words in my ear. We could never rebel. We could never free ourselves from his clutches, for if we chose to sever the string that tied us together, there would be nothing to keep us afloat. Only bound with chains would we be able to move. Without servitude, all that awaited us was tragedy. Without repression, there was only death. He had been a sacrificial lamb so God could tell us all: Only through his power are we anything more than puppets. Only because he wills it do we live. I understood.

Even if there existed a vast sky beyond God’s realm. There was nowhere to escape to.

 

Written 21st May 2013.

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