From afar it looks complete—head, thorax, abdomen. The antennae protrude from the head proudly but limp, and the four fragile ivory wings look more elegant than ever, as they are motionless. The feathery scales are silky as my fingers skim over them.
Ack!! Huh? W-what? S-s-socially awkward? Who, ME? Oh, um, okay. SO WHAT? I'm still a person. I still have ideas. Just give me time. Just let me get to know you. Better yet, let yourself get to know me. So please don't judge me by your glances that merely bounce off my shell no more than once. I may be socially awkward, but I still hope you hear what I have to say.
Why do puppets fascinate us so? Numerous stories have been based upon them, but what is it that makes them so magical and captivating?
Perhaps it is their mimetic appearance.
Made to look like us and act like us, puppets are imitations of man. They “live” the lives we write for them, in our fantasies of playing God. Puppets “feel” what we make them feel, “suffer” what we make them suffer, “die” when we cut their threads.
Though these puppets are thus manifestations of our cathartic nature, there still is that inherent compassion, that empathetic part of us that makes us feel a sorrow for them. The helplessness and the lack of freedom of these puppets touch that part of our souls and make us question our fates. Are we, too, perhaps the puppets of some greater power?