Gipetto grunted as he sat up in his bed. Fumbling about for his glasses, he nearly
knocked over Goldie's bowl. To the figure that sat watching him, the old man looked very much like
a child awakening after a long winters rest. Even more so, as the human remembered the events of
the night before. Had he the ability to spring out of his bed, the toy maker would have. Taking
great strides, the old man hurried to his work bench.
There sat Pistachio. Still as ever. "Perhaps.." sighed Gipetto, slightly hesitant to speak
the words for fear of any truth that might be hidden in them. "Perhaps it all was but a dream."
Dejectedly, he picked up his tools and prepared for the work that lay ahead of him.
As the toy maker went about his work, he was unaware of the set of eyes taking in his
every move. Hatred burned the entrails of the once wooden frame. A slight twitch came into
existence on the once inanimate left hand. The strings that would once have been necessary for
movement shuddered with the dark energies of Hell.
'Thou, wretched old man.' Pistachio thought, an action all new to him. 'You've ruined me.
You've made me....-human-.' Disgust and shame sent another shiver through the puppet's body.
"You'll pay." He spat audibly.
Gipetto whirled. He hadn't heard anyone come in, but he knew he had heard the youthful
voice of a young boy. When he looked about, there was no one to be seen. Disappointed in his
continuously lonely occupation, the old man turned back to his table, mumbling to himself about
hearing voices again.
As Pistachio sat watching, another new occurance that came about. He heard a voice in his head,
slightly different than the one he had heard a moment before. And he didn't control this once.
"Pistachio!" The voice cried out. "It's a pleasure to meet you! I'm your conscience."
"Conscience?" The newly made little boy repeated.
"That's right!" The voice replied.
The boy thought for a moment. Conscience? He didn't register that word with anything he
had come to realize within his time of consciousness.
"It's my job to help you choose the right." The little voice seemed as if it could read
his mind. 'Which is only logical considering what it is.' Pistachio thought.
"Then, Conscience, tell me if vengeance is right or...not right."
Gipetto grumbled something undecipherable and continued working.
"Vengeance is never right, Pistachio."
"Not even if it seems justified?" This voice was beginning to annoy the once puppet boy.
"No! Don't even think about harming someone else."
Pistachio frowned at this. All his thoughts since he had been awakened revolved around
causing others pain and discomfort. He wondered if there was some way to mute the voice. Figuring
there probably wasn't, he sighed.
The old man turned around again. He knew he had heard something that time. When he did so, he
saw Pistachio looking at him. Looking at him! When last he touched the puppet-turned-boy, it had
been staring at the ceiling! Ecstaticly, the toy maker jumped up with energy like that which he
hadn't felt in years. He was in the act of rushing to his boy, arms spread wide, when the boys eyes
changed from a vacant look, to a gaze of terror and shock, to that of commanding hatred.
"Stop!" Pistachio yelled in his high pitched voice.
Gipetto did so. He was confused by his sons attempted harshness.
Pistachio was overcome. This bumbling fool had woken him. This insolent pest planned to
govern over his every move. This massive dotard had turned him into a -human-! Rage taking control
of his actions, Pistachio stood up on the work bench.
"Pistachio! Stop!" Cried Conscience.
Ignoring the tiny voices pleas, the once puppet leapt off his perch. As he landed, he
heard a faint CRUNCH. Under his wooden shoe was splattered an insect. The red blood made
Pistachio smile; reminiscent of the scarlet paint that had tickled his wooden features, giving him
such joy. Those were the days when life had been easy, when one could relax without having to think.
As Pistachio looked, a notion dripped into his head.
'What was it they called this bug? Cricket? That's a funny word.'
"Pi-Pistachio, my son." Gipetto inadvertantly brought Hell's fury back upon his head.
"Silence, infidel." The almost girlish voice of Pistachio sliced through Gipetto's feelings
of happiness in watching his companion move. He was beginning to think perhaps this fellowship
wouldn't work out as well as he had once hoped.
As the puppet-boy drew near his creator, he heard a noise behind him. Thankfully, not the
annoying Conscience, but his strings dragging on the ground. "How convenient of you to give me a
weapon." He said in his innocent sounding voice. Snapping the strings off of his appendages, he
wielded his make-shift rope. As he advanced on Gipetto, the old man slowly stepped backwards.
"P-Please, my son! I gave you life!"
"Yes, life." Pistachio growled. "You damned me to a life as a human. A wretched, vile,
human!" His voice shrill, he jumped at the toy maker.
On reflex, Gipetto partly jumped, partly fell out of the path of the enraged puppet-boy.
Turning, Pistachio looked once more into his creators eyes. The pair of blue orbs were wide
with fear, and drops of water leaked from them. Water, which may or may not have accounted for the
damp spot on his pants.
The little boy grinned a grin that would have been better suited upon the evilest creature
of the darkness. Seeing this, Gipetto froze. Pistachio's eyes held him in place as the tiny
assassin drew closer.
"You'll pay for your sins." The once-wooden-boy said in a voice that was as deep as was
possible for him.
Abruptly, he lunged at Gipetto, who wasn't quick enough this time. Once on him, Pistachio
pummled the old man. Tiny fists of fury sounded off the beat of Deaths war drum. Finally tiring of
the tedious work, the puppet-boy drew out his strings. Holding them taut, he strung them around his
creators neck. Pulling tightly, he laughed at the similarities between his gagging father and the
flopping fish that had fallen on the floor during the fight. When Gipetto stopped squirming, stopped
moving, Pistachio released his grasp. Vengeance was his.
knocked over Goldie's bowl. To the figure that sat watching him, the old man looked very much like
a child awakening after a long winters rest. Even more so, as the human remembered the events of
the night before. Had he the ability to spring out of his bed, the toy maker would have. Taking
great strides, the old man hurried to his work bench.
There sat Pistachio. Still as ever. "Perhaps.." sighed Gipetto, slightly hesitant to speak
the words for fear of any truth that might be hidden in them. "Perhaps it all was but a dream."
Dejectedly, he picked up his tools and prepared for the work that lay ahead of him.
As the toy maker went about his work, he was unaware of the set of eyes taking in his
every move. Hatred burned the entrails of the once wooden frame. A slight twitch came into
existence on the once inanimate left hand. The strings that would once have been necessary for
movement shuddered with the dark energies of Hell.
'Thou, wretched old man.' Pistachio thought, an action all new to him. 'You've ruined me.
You've made me....-human-.' Disgust and shame sent another shiver through the puppet's body.
"You'll pay." He spat audibly.
Gipetto whirled. He hadn't heard anyone come in, but he knew he had heard the youthful
voice of a young boy. When he looked about, there was no one to be seen. Disappointed in his
continuously lonely occupation, the old man turned back to his table, mumbling to himself about
hearing voices again.
As Pistachio sat watching, another new occurance that came about. He heard a voice in his head,
slightly different than the one he had heard a moment before. And he didn't control this once.
"Pistachio!" The voice cried out. "It's a pleasure to meet you! I'm your conscience."
"Conscience?" The newly made little boy repeated.
"That's right!" The voice replied.
The boy thought for a moment. Conscience? He didn't register that word with anything he
had come to realize within his time of consciousness.
"It's my job to help you choose the right." The little voice seemed as if it could read
his mind. 'Which is only logical considering what it is.' Pistachio thought.
"Then, Conscience, tell me if vengeance is right or...not right."
Gipetto grumbled something undecipherable and continued working.
"Vengeance is never right, Pistachio."
"Not even if it seems justified?" This voice was beginning to annoy the once puppet boy.
"No! Don't even think about harming someone else."
Pistachio frowned at this. All his thoughts since he had been awakened revolved around
causing others pain and discomfort. He wondered if there was some way to mute the voice. Figuring
there probably wasn't, he sighed.
The old man turned around again. He knew he had heard something that time. When he did so, he
saw Pistachio looking at him. Looking at him! When last he touched the puppet-turned-boy, it had
been staring at the ceiling! Ecstaticly, the toy maker jumped up with energy like that which he
hadn't felt in years. He was in the act of rushing to his boy, arms spread wide, when the boys eyes
changed from a vacant look, to a gaze of terror and shock, to that of commanding hatred.
"Stop!" Pistachio yelled in his high pitched voice.
Gipetto did so. He was confused by his sons attempted harshness.
Pistachio was overcome. This bumbling fool had woken him. This insolent pest planned to
govern over his every move. This massive dotard had turned him into a -human-! Rage taking control
of his actions, Pistachio stood up on the work bench.
"Pistachio! Stop!" Cried Conscience.
Ignoring the tiny voices pleas, the once puppet leapt off his perch. As he landed, he
heard a faint CRUNCH. Under his wooden shoe was splattered an insect. The red blood made
Pistachio smile; reminiscent of the scarlet paint that had tickled his wooden features, giving him
such joy. Those were the days when life had been easy, when one could relax without having to think.
As Pistachio looked, a notion dripped into his head.
'What was it they called this bug? Cricket? That's a funny word.'
"Pi-Pistachio, my son." Gipetto inadvertantly brought Hell's fury back upon his head.
"Silence, infidel." The almost girlish voice of Pistachio sliced through Gipetto's feelings
of happiness in watching his companion move. He was beginning to think perhaps this fellowship
wouldn't work out as well as he had once hoped.
As the puppet-boy drew near his creator, he heard a noise behind him. Thankfully, not the
annoying Conscience, but his strings dragging on the ground. "How convenient of you to give me a
weapon." He said in his innocent sounding voice. Snapping the strings off of his appendages, he
wielded his make-shift rope. As he advanced on Gipetto, the old man slowly stepped backwards.
"P-Please, my son! I gave you life!"
"Yes, life." Pistachio growled. "You damned me to a life as a human. A wretched, vile,
human!" His voice shrill, he jumped at the toy maker.
On reflex, Gipetto partly jumped, partly fell out of the path of the enraged puppet-boy.
Turning, Pistachio looked once more into his creators eyes. The pair of blue orbs were wide
with fear, and drops of water leaked from them. Water, which may or may not have accounted for the
damp spot on his pants.
The little boy grinned a grin that would have been better suited upon the evilest creature
of the darkness. Seeing this, Gipetto froze. Pistachio's eyes held him in place as the tiny
assassin drew closer.
"You'll pay for your sins." The once-wooden-boy said in a voice that was as deep as was
possible for him.
Abruptly, he lunged at Gipetto, who wasn't quick enough this time. Once on him, Pistachio
pummled the old man. Tiny fists of fury sounded off the beat of Deaths war drum. Finally tiring of
the tedious work, the puppet-boy drew out his strings. Holding them taut, he strung them around his
creators neck. Pulling tightly, he laughed at the similarities between his gagging father and the
flopping fish that had fallen on the floor during the fight. When Gipetto stopped squirming, stopped
moving, Pistachio released his grasp. Vengeance was his.
