The Puppeteer

Watch as I string the puppet.
I prime the spring,
And all spectate...
My bright tricks far engulfing the truth...

Which is me.
I twist, turn, kneel slowly to the cobbled floor
open palms spreading over cold wet slab...
Wishing
Waiting

I raise my head, I see.
Onlookers stare, as I, centre square,
remain frozen still in the sleeting rain,
perfectly camoflagued.
A slow drip starts down my forehead,
and passes my dry cracked lips, but I remain still.
I am hunting.

She walks my way.
My new friend.
Soon.
As she passes me by, I count.
Count the seconds until I am allowed to play.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three

I spin around.
It is light now, but the moon shines brightly on what darkness has hidden,
The city square is empty now,
Leaving only
The lonely click clack of stilleto on black cobbled path
And the inception of my wrath.

I pounce.
Her deep green eyes grip in terror, but I seal her mouth.
Heels dig into my leg, deep deep deep
Clever friend.
You have drawn my blood.

I unsheath my dagger.
You whimper, murmur your panics, cry your very darkest fears to me.
Don't be scared friend.
I will play your strings now,
Protect you,
Save you.
For I chose you, my dear, and aren't you lucky?
Always mine for all eternity.
You fall slowly to the ground as I slit your throat, and the pain crashes free as you crumple on the ground.
Playtime.

I twist, turn, kneel slowly once more to the cobbled slab.
The warm wet, sticky path of crimson so red, so pure, so cleansing, which I long ago chose to walk.
I have entertained you - fulfilled what was needed, and will wait, wait until I am needed again, to rescue, to protect you, always
Wishing
Waiting.

Playtime.
The audience gathers.
I play my beautiful puppet.