Puppet
Nikolas Litras
Programs used: Google Docs, Adobe Spark, Krita Fonts: Megrim, Playfair Display
Table of Contents A Different me
1
A Flower Among the Dozen The Seat Toon Force An Awkward Interaction at the DrugStore Summer Days A lonely night in the wet field
3
Coins are Money, They hold no Sentimental Value
13
Goo Baby A Letter of Hope for a Disappointed Soul
4 6 8 10 12
14 16
A Different Me I envision myself as the one who can do all, the one that can solve any problem with ease. Given any task, I can master it and manage to impress. I could be the one with no fear, no worries, living everyday care free. I could be someone who looks in every direction. Creating paths of possibilities wherever I go. I envision myself as the one that could be all these things. But, I know that could never be. I’ll always end up wishing for a change. A changed I'm not in control of, My bones will rattle with fear at the sight of any conflict. Snapping and cracking with ease, because that's all there good for. Those bones will never heal. So every time I dream of a different me, the universe will come down and slap me across the face. Bringing me back into reality letting it sink in that I’ll never be the one I want to be. I’ll forever envision myself as someone I can never be. Making me know that I can never be different.
A Flower Among the Dozen Some might call it love, to a degree, yes. Others might describe it as a bond altered by no others. That's just not true. Everything must, at one point or another divide, separate, or change. The flower you once knew has already gone through and finished a new cycle. It has made progress, developed, changed. The flower’s appearance, beaming with beauty, is still how you remember it. We can only dream of a flower that uses the same chemicals twice, one might call that, perfect. Nothing you can do could affect the cycle of a flower, no matter how much you exhale in it’s direction, or how many gallons of water your willing to carry for it, or how much brightness you bring to help it grow. The flower can always get it somewhere else.
The Seat I’m about to board the last train home. Usually I'm on the first train, but something came up. I go to sit down, but my spot is already taken. “Damn it, I was too late.” I take the seat across from mine. I start to clench my teeth cause I’ve sat there everyday for the past year. Even though the seat is worn down and the bolts have long since rusted, I look forward to that seat. It’s my seat. I’m about to get off the train. The person in my seat never got up. Over the speaker I hear, “Next stop coming up.” My body starts to tense up, someone is still in my seat, there is somebody else but me in my seat. Sweat is dripping from the top of my head onto the dreadful seat I’m sitting in.
The train stops and the doors open, my stops here. I slowly get up and glance at my beloved seat. One last thought rushes through my head, “Oh well, it's just a seat.”
Toon Force My head is pounding from pain. The bump quickly grows like the roots of a tree and starts pulsing. Constantly changing to different shades of red bouncing up and down rapidly. The moment I touch this newly formed bump it cartoonishly retracts back into my head and appears somewhere else on my head. I start walking around wondering where I am, I can’t seem to recognize anything around me. Confused, I continue to walk and I don’t realize that I'm heading straight towards the main road. I don’t stop because the pain of the strange bump on my head is distracting me. I hear the noise of a car horn blasting through the air. I turn to my right and see a massive truck blazing towards me. My eyes fly out of my face, beaming towards the truck. My body flings itself in the air and out of nowhere, it curves around the whole truck dodging my certain demise. I glance at the truck passing me and it’s not just driving on the road, the wheels are moving as a human's legs would. The front of the truck turns what I suppose is its head around and yells furiously. “What the hell were you doing in the middle of the road, do you have any common sense!” I question myself “Do I have any common sense?” I continue to walk down the road,
glance down at my hands and see that a cartoon glove covers my hands. I vigorously try to rip the gloves off but they just stretch like rubber and bounce back onto my hand. I began to realize that my whole body is becoming some sort of cartoon character. I fall to the ground, screaming my lungs, tears pouring down my cartoonish face. And in one single momentary pause, I awaken in a hospital. My surroundings are unknown just like before, I ask the doctor in the room why I'm here. The doctor turns over and says. “You were walking home and a huge anvil fell right on your head, I thought birds were going to start flying around your head like some cartoon. You were extremely lucky to survive.”
An Awkward Interaction at the DrugStore She stood there basking in her own beauty. Her bright blonde hair grasping her shoulder, her hazelnut eyes that would make any man melt. My body is tense, as tight as a snake wrapped around its prey. Slowly I’m losing my breath, the snake tightening its strong hold around my neck. Each step I make towards her my footing is slightly off balance. My clumsy self knocks into the racks of Advil. Pills scatter, each one hitting the ground louder than a bomb. she darts her eyes over to me. The snake gets an even tighter grip on my neck. It’s grip is blocking words from exiting my mouth. Even after she is looking at me, my mind can only focus on her vibrant hair, and her hazelnut eyes staring me down that I fail to notice she's talking to me. I regain my balance and try to remember what she said. She said something about me, but I wasn’t listening. I could only worry about cleaning up the mountain of pills I just spilled. She finally repeats her statement.
“Are you okay?” I clear my throat and wipe the sweat off my forehead. “Ye-yeah, I'm fine.” She began to giggle. She stood there, twirling her gorgeous hair in between her gentle fingers. I almost fell flat to the ground at that very moment.
Summer Days “Damn, I always was pretty bad at this” The dusty room filled with broken controllers, bumpers jammed and joysticks lose. Carpet stains are now emitting the strong scent of a Capri-Sun pouch. The straw pierced through the back of the plastic, leaking juice across the scratched up, burgundy table. Each stair leading up creeks with its own original sound. Creating a symphony of nostalgia, each step bringing back a strong memory; running up the stairs on all fours after hearing lunch is ready, or after accidentally falling asleep in the cold basement and slowly making your way up the stairs to see what time it is. Once the symphony of nostalgia ends the backyard door is waiting at the top of the steps, jammed shut. After I continually pull on the doorknob, almost ripping it out of the socket, the smell of mildew and garbage fills my nose sensitive reminiscent scents. But the smell didn’t bother me. I was reminiscing about the times my brother and I would bike for hours around our neighborhood, those scents would follow us throughout each block. The times when I would take too hard of a turn and crash into the cracked pavement. My brother would help me up while I died laughing at myself for almost dying before the age of thirteen. We’d get home and I’d put some ice over my bruises and then we both laid in our freezing cold
basement and break our Wii remotes beyond repair. But, those days are gone and done with. Now my fridge is full of key lime pies and so many laCroix cans, all the things I hated as a child. Now my 9-5 job takes priority over everything. Giving me no time to goof off and scrape my skateboard up even more. As much as I want to get on my bike and smell the garbage through the streets of my home, all the gears are rusted, unable to turn in a full circle. A full circle, I'm back in my old town, still trying to properly open a Capri-Sun. Things change, summers are not the same.
A lonely night in the wet field My scratched up skateboard soaked up with memories laying beside me as my mind drifts away. Strairing off in the sky as my eyes slowly roll into the back of my head. My body feels lighter than air, Almost light enough for me to drift away from one large gust. My speaker gently whispering into my ear while I lay on the wet grass. The sky a shade of royal purple, blending with the stars creating a majestic painting right before my eyes. But, the purple night sky starts to fade to black, each star turns off one by one until I’m sucked in limbo. I start to lose sight of the art in front of me. Can’t seem to get a grasp, I’m falling. I reach out and finally come to. My hand surrounds the moon, the only light left, capturing its beauty. I stand up, grab my scratched up board, and ride away.
Coins are Money, They hold no Sentimental Value Rustic coins taint the hands of a poor worker. The scent emitted from the coins, which is now stained on his palms is looked down upon. This scent runs rampant through the streets, coins can be smelt from each individual's dirty hands. Even though coins are spotted almost everywhere, that rustic touch is still difficult to obtain. Poor is the worker, for he can not obtain such vast amounts of wealth. Every penny, nickel and dime he comes across is a treasure like no other. He spends his days working for others to please his stomach. Intense labor for his own greater good. Poor is the worker, he must rummage through the streets to find unwanted coins. Pennies, nickels, and dimes fill his pockets. But, he could not just release them back into the world. They hold the meaning of his life, everything that makes him up. Poor is the worker, he must realize, coins are money, they hold no sentimental value.
Goo Baby The fridge is empty again. Food is spoiled, the coke from last night is spilled and the counter is stained, once again. I pour a dirty glass of water out of the tap and make my way down to my one room filled with everything my life is made of. My pillow is tainted with lice and my covers are torn from the constant traveling from home to home. I finally settled in a small home near a convenient store. I get into bed like any other day, but before I turn off my one light I see something on the cardboard box I use for a nightstand. I quickly turn on my light and see the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes upon. A baby composed of pure goo and gunk, green slime dripping down its body covering my moldy wood floor. Slowly, I move towards this baby, and like some sort of monster, it begins to retract and shrink in size. I lay out my hand and it begins to slug on to my greasy palm. The Goo Baby bounces up and down, it seems happy to see me, like I was its first friend, like I was something it needed. I start gathering random materials and objects to see how it will react. I place a rotten apple coated with fuzz and filled maggots destroying it from the inside out. It gently poked me with its tiny baby fingers covered in a gelatinous substance. Goo Baby begins to encase the apple inside its body and melt it like lava. I'm completely
flabbergasted at this extraordinary baby. I head straight for my pile of boxes and grab a stuffed raccoon. This raccoon has a fluffy tail, alternating from white and black, it’s eyes were pure black dots like a doll so it couldn’t have a normal raccoon mask, however, it was still undoubtedly a stuffed raccoon. I place the toy in front of Goo Baby, it paces over and lays on it like a real baby would fall asleep on its mother's chest. I bend down and pick it up as if it were my own child. Goo Baby wraps it’s slimy arms around my cheek and nuzzles closer. Later into the night I build a small makeshift bed out of cardboard and tissue. I place my sweet angel into his new bed, he stares at me with a joyful grin. I turn off my almost broken light drift to sleep. The sun blast through my cracked windows and I rise up to greet, once again my precise Goo Baby. I learn over the cardboard bed; and see nothing. I start rummaging through the garbage piled in my room. Searching every conner, flipping everything upside down to find him. My panicked mind is driving my body around like a drunk driver. As I run around, I fall and slip on something. It's a pile of green goo lying on the ground. I bend down immediately, tears running down my cheeks. I realize, all that I slipped on is just a child's play toy.
A Letter of Hope for a Disappointed Soul As you are reading this letter you are most likely laying in bed, still wearing your soft pajamas rewatching your favorite show for the seventh time. What a sad creature you’ve turned into. As a child, you had ambition, a goal in mind. Your lost of direction created a new world where this creature dwells now. You definitely live a dull life and you probably just nodded your head in agreement. Your overgrown, unwatered body engulfs itself in pity. Your sixteen year-old self has more backbone than you, that's just pathetic. This isn’t really a letter of hope as suggested by the title. I just want to shock you back into reality. You’re living in a fog filled world, senses and vision blocked by self delusion and constant second guesses. I never saw anything special in myself, so I wrote you this.