Strings

The old man let out a sigh of relief and placed the sharp carving knife on the table.
After carving and sewing, he freed his thumb from his thimble.
Back he sat in the warm candlelight of his workshop to admire his creation.
His dry eyes broke with tears as his lungs burst with emotion.
A young boy birthed from oak slouched lifelessly on top of the counter.
Stitched with strings to his limbs for control by his maker.

Tired man, Geppetto, caught the time from the watch in his pocket.
He glanced up, only to be met by the blinking eyes of his puppet.
Geppetto stumbled backward, knocking over his chair in shock.
He gasped as the wooden boy, Pinocchio, cocked his head sideways and began to talk.
“Papa! Papa!” the boy exclaimed, as Geppetto inched forward in awe.
How did he conjure new life using only wood and a handsaw?

Geppetto ran to his son and wrapped his arms around the boy.
He couldn’t believe what had become of a simple puppet toy.
He smiled into Pinocchio’s shoulder and wiped away a single tear.
The joy he felt in his chest beat with a thump that was beyond sincere.
Geppetto’s bliss was short-lived as he felt a blade move across his throat.
His eyes begged for a breath as blood splashed down his white coat.

Pinocchio sat straight up with a grin plastered on his painted face.
Carving knife clutched in his fist, he looked about and admired his birthplace.
He giggled aloud as he studied the slaughtered body on the carpet.
Skipping playfully, Pinocchio gathered scattered tools and walked up to the carcass.
Taking hold of Geppetto’s limp wrist, Pinocchio dragged him closer to the candle with a smirk.
It would take weeks, but it was time for Pinocchio to get to work.

Pinocchio let out a sigh of satisfaction and placed the sharp carving knife on the table.
After chopping and sewing, he freed his thumb from his thimble.

Back he sat in the warm candlelight to admire his creation.
His wooden eyes remained still, he was a thing born without emotion.
An old man killed by oak slouched lifelessly on top of the counter.
Stitched with strings to his limbs for control by his maker.
Geppetto’s skin was stained crimson from Pinocchio’s haphazard stitching.
Proud of his work, Pinocchio hummed to himself, then started singing,
“I’ve got no strings to hold me down,
to make me fret,
or make me frown!”
Geppetto crafted Pinocchio to be as gentle as a baby rabbit,
But Pinocchio hacked the man into his very own puppet.

“I had strings,
but now I’m free.
There are no strings on me!”