Marrionette: The Jester

After years of guidance, the Jester is able to make his own moves.

The marionettes moved across the stage in a dance perfectly choreographed by the puppeteer above. Fishing line type string shimmered in the harsh light given off by the stage lights. They moved in perfect synchronicity, with flowing bows and sweeps of the hands, the two looked almost alive under the practiced hand of the master puppeteer.

Years of shows never ceased, and the marionettes moved in the same patterns practiced by their master’s hands. Slowly through out the years the lines frayed on the jester doll, passed down to their master, by the puppeteer’s teacher. The Jester and The Knight did everything the jerks of their strings told them to do, but during the show, The Jester’s frayed strings finally gave way, but the marionette kept dancing, the same way his master always moved him.

When the show was over, The Jester fell to the stage as The Knight was lifted to the puppeteer. As the puppeteer moved his way slowly off the balcony The Jester sat up in the dark theater. He moved his unbound hand to his face, then he kicked his legs a bit. Suddenly The Jester fell to the ground as the vibrations of foot falls made their way to him.

Hands picked up the old marionette, and a face looked mockingly down upon The Jester. “I was wondering when it would be time to retire you. Now is the best time it seems.”

The Jester didn’t like those snide words said to him. The Knight had not been The Jester’s first partner; hardly as The Jester remembered many a number of marionettes before The Knight, they had all been burned the night they ‘retired’. The master puppeteer cared nothing for his tools, for that was exactly what the marionettes were to their master, tools, and nothing more.

The Jester had thought that maybe, just maybe, his master would covet him more than the others. That maybe the years of smiles The Jester had gotten out of the puppeteer, would make him just a little more special than the others. It seemed that years of faithful dancing meant absolutely nothing to the puppeteer, and the smiles were only for those that were useful. But The Jester would not become just another one of the marionettes that his master had used then tossed aside when no longer useful.

The puppeteer moved about in his practiced routine after a show, and it was something that The Jester knew like he knew his dance. Knowing exactly how his master was going to move, The Jester started pulling the strings.

The next morning the puppeteer was found laying in a puddle of blood in the middle of the theater stage, with glassy eyes, like the marionettes the puppeteer used, staring out toward where the empty seats were. Out of the puppeteer’s hands and feet were strings, attached to nothing, making the puppeteer useless. And there, on a chest, sat The Jester, with his shiny bead eyes and his never ceasing smile painted on his face, strings no longer attached to him.

Author's Note

Uhh. well this just is. Brought to you by Randa.