Frankie

The show was supposed to be normal. We would go on stage, we would perform, the children would laugh, the parents would respectfully clap, then we would get paid and leave. Simple right? The basic job, nothing new.

We had been hired to do some kid named Luke's party. I had chosen my Frankenstein's monster puppet, Frankie, because Luke had chosen a Hotel Transylvania party and honestly this was the closest thing I had. People were often kind of freaked by Frankie and I rarely ever used him but at this point, I had no better puppet.

On the drive up here things had been a little tense, Frankie had insisted on sitting in the back, probably feeling resentment from having been locked in the trunk so long. I had let him, this way at least he could blow out some steam before going on stage.

Upon arrival, I explained the production to the still sceptical parents and began to set up while the children arrived. Many of them asked to play with the puppets, and I let them, keeping Frankie and some of the others to myself in order to let them prepare.

When the show started it went over well, all the puppets did what they were supposed to do, and the children were mesmerized and in awe of my PG version of Frankenstein. I was quite proud of myself, everything was going just the way it was supposed to, even Frankie was cooperating.

During intermission, I had gone to my van to get some extra props for the second part. It was then that I had heard it. The screams, both children and adults. I could smell smoke and see the crackle of flames leaping up behind the house. Quickly I came running back and what I saw was chaos.

The sets I had taken so many weeks out of my life to make were burning, the puppets I had handcrafted were withering in the flames, their mouths downturned and arms raised among the smoke and fire, their last moments spent trying to escape but unable to because of the cage of wood.

I rushed towards them, patting down the flames with the cape of my costume, but it was far too late. The characters I had made were gone, any life they had, destroyed by the embers of this fire.

The fire sirens could be heard, and all of the children were huddled in the front yard. A few of the parents were not too far from me, dousing fires creeping closer to the house. But I was still engrossed with the damage done to these creatures, these living creatures that no one understood but me.

As I rummaged through the damage, I noticed one was missing. Looking up I glanced around, and I saw the drag marks. they were leading away, through the fence.

I took off, following the marks until I found Frankie outside a small clearing. His body had been severed from his head, the sewing was torn and butchered, a small pair of sewing scissors I kept in the back of my van was in his hands. There was also a box of matches lying a few feet away.

By the time I arrived, he was already gone. Whatever had given him the cognitive thinking, the ability to move, to talk, had been destroyed.
His hands, which held the scissors were outstretched, pointing to a specific spot. I looked to where he pointed and was shocked for I had never met a puppet able to do this.

Just within reach, written while he died, when he took his own life, were the words written in a childish handwriting:

MY CHOICE