Something I cooked up a long … long … looong time ago. Just found it among other writings. Enjoy. C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*C*
The silver blade on the marionette's arm had mercilessly cut through the air with a ssshhwiiing, sliding smoothly against the white throat of the pleading male figure. With a gurgling gasp, the victim shot his hands toward his jugular, looking at the permanently carved grin on his murderer's ghostly-pale wooden face.
As the man's eyes widened, his life liquid seeped from the gaping mouth on his throat, leaking through his clutched fingers.
The marionette hissed in delight as it stepped backwards, his target falling to its quivering knees. Eyes still holding what little life he had left, the man stared the black-clad figure down with hate clouding his vision before he collapsed on the tiled floor beneath him.
The miniscule murderer watched with glee, his eye-blades shooting from their sockets, and an excited hiss escaping his parted, cold, white-painted lips.
If he had the ability to laugh – as if he were Jester, one of his fellow puppet peers – he would have made the classical Charles Lee Ray laugh sound similar to that of a toddler's cry for attention. He enjoyed this.
He enjoyed this greatly, as a human enjoyed air.
Taking lives, by a simple flick of the knife that was his right arm.
'Role play,' he thought. He considered it role play. Taking lives of mortals and not caring. Just as Major Kraus, the Gestapo commander, had done.
'Cursed Nazis,' he thought bitterly. 'Nothing but role play.'His spirit lit up as the curtains from a nearby window fluttered like beautiful velvet ghosts, parting way for the round beacon in the starry night to cloak the room with its hypnotizing silver beams. If the string-less puppet could gasp, he would have done so for the gorgeous puddle that leaked from the fresh corpse that rested on the floor in the Bodega Bay Inn. The deep ginger liquid seemed to visibly appear an onyx black in the moonbeams of the shining night god. The marionette glanced south to the same onyx life liquid caked on his 'hand'.
Yes, he enjoyed this.
This is what he did for a living, besides obey the Master.
Role play.
This was his role play.
His duty to protect his peers – his family – and Master.
His job to protect their secret … and liking it.
His peers will find the corpse soon, and know he did it.
As leader of them, he does it more than the rest.
They'll know he did it, as will he.
No matter how many of his 'victims' he rids from the earth, he never forgets them.
Ever.
Blade always remembers his victims.
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I, Cerzylaneum'Callist-11, do not own Puppet Master, nor do I make ANY prophet from this piece of crap writing. Puppet Master and the film's characters completely belong to Full Moon, as do many other movies too long to list.