The Marionette

It is at night when I see her face. It is at night when I cry. It is at night when I want to give up and give into the darkness tearing through my soul. It is at night when I remember the marionette that I used to be. I may have been born a Marionette but I refuse to die as one.

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2. Her.

It is at night when I see her face. It is at night when I see her eyes. It is at night when I give into the pain and finally let the tears flow. It is at night when I remember the marionette that I used to be.

Tangled in ashes and string, I was nothing but a puppet to my masters who at the slightest tug of my strings could guide and restrain my will.

“Do this,” the voices whispered. “Do that,” they insist. “Kill this one,” they command. “OBEY,” they order.

To them I was nothing but a vessel, nothing but a weapon and a puppet for them to control. I was a porcelain doll, perfectly crafted in a mould to suit my masters’ purpose.  I was trained to kill and was taught the art of murder and espionage. For as long as I could remember, I was moulded into assassin. They trained me to accept and follow every command put forwards to me; and because I didn’t know any better, I followed. The wire around my wrists dragged me from one side to another, pulling me from one target to the next.

Underneath it all, I was dangerously naïve and fragile. My mask was so thick that I didn’t know where it ended and truly began.  The real me was lost, locked in the cage of my own mind as I couldn’t escape from the screaming in my mind.  Each day, I was told the conditions of my existence and the conditions if I did not obey.

“You are nothing. Simply nothing. You are simply nothing but a marionette for us to control.” The woman told me as she pinned me to the wall with a steel grip. Squirming beneath her grip, a sickly smile graced over her lips. Eyes glinting in the harsh light, I knew the script off by heart; I had heard it enough times. My response was to simply nod. I had to accept it because the alternative was much more painful. I had made that mistake one too many times and knew better than to provoke my puppeteers.

My face may have been neutral and my heart may have been stone but underneath I was chipped and tainted. My once vibrant lips were now worn and pale as over time, the paint slowly faded away into nothing. My once burning mind was now nothing but debris and ash. I was a shadow of who I used to be. I was now only a broken marionette, with no purpose.

I saw through it. After so long, I finally saw through their act. She was right: I was nothing to them. I was just a machine, a doll, a puppet for them to use. I was finally aware of my purpose and my identity. I was nothing but a number to them, I was just a statistic. But no more. Never again. Never again would I let them control me.

I may have been born as a marionette, but I refused to die as one.

And so the strings had to be cut.

I ran. I simply ran as fast as my legs would carry me to nowhere and to everywhere. I had nothing and no-one but yet the world at my fingertips.

And so I ran.

It was at night when I saw her face. It was at night when I saw her eyes. It was at night when I give into the pain and finally let the tears flow. It was at night when I remembered the marionette that I used to be.

There are no strings to control me, not anymore.

And there never will be again.

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