I've always liked toys. Puppets in particular. Pulling their strings was so easy. A light tug could orchestrate the most amusing fights. A rough tug could start a war. A war that I could manipulate quite easily to my advantage.
My sons made excellent marionettes.
My oldest son was fun to toy with. He moved at my command and did what puppets are expected to do. He entertained with a plastic smile and delighted anyone who came to watch.
My middle son was timid. He too did what was expected of him without incident. He was never as entertaining as his older brother. I pulled his strings gently and he performed well enough but never as beautifully as my other two puppets.
My youngest son was my favorite toy.
He was talented and at first he preformed just as well as his older brothers. However I saw that he was far more talented than he let on and so I held his strings tightly in my hands.
I yanked at him.
Allowing him to see his goal and to grasp his goal, only to pull him away without notice. I did this many times, never once tiring of my game. Closer and closer I let him come; and each time farther and farther I pulled him from his goal.
I gave so much but I took more.
Soon he began to age, and with age came problems. His strings tangled and from then on I could never be sure if my tugs would make him do as I wished. I pulled tighter and the knot grew. He became harder to control and so much more interesting.
He became my favorite toy.
With each use the strings became more tangled until finally they became a mess. I realized that this was what he'd planned all along. He'd thought beyond what his brothers did and began to try his hand at controlling me. Just as he'd planned the strings that had once held him became his escape.
I cut him free from the snarl of expectations.
