My Own Life

All my life I was told what to do. I was told what to say, how to act, even how to dress. It felt like my life wasn't mine to have. It felt like I was being controlled. I felt like a puppet.

My father would hold shows for kids in the neighborhood. I was always the star of those shows. The kids would gather from here and far just to watch me and my family perform.

My name is Tiny. My name suits me because, as you can guess, I'm small.

I was my dad's favorite out of my many brothers and sisters. My dad would take me anywhere. Well, he had to because we moved a lot. For the shows of course. Once we were done in one town, we would move onto the next.

We've been to a lot of different places. Places with beautiful beaches where would sometimes host our shows. Places with so many tall buildings that my father said were 'skyscrapers'. Others with beautiful lakes and rivers that were filled with fish and turtles.

I never got to play with the kids though. I never even got to make friends. My father was afraid I would get lost. I longed to be out in the meadows and forests, butterflies and bees surrounding me. I wanted to roam free, picking daises and wildflowers. I wanted to lie in the sun for so long that I would get sunburned. I wanted to swim in deep, blue oceans and smell the sweet, salty air.

I would try to tell him that I'll be really careful, but I couldn't speak. I had no voice. I couldn't even move my lips to form words. I was incapable of talking or uttering anything. It made me depressed. I could never tell him what I longed for. I could never tell him that I just wanted to stay and make friends. Most importantly, I could never tell him that I love him.

The only thing that made me happy, however, are the kid's faces when my family and I come into town. They would gather around the van, jumping up and down. They would race to the spot where we'll be performing and wait there while my dad would set up the platform. Sometimes they helped, but most of the times they would run around together, playing tag.

I longed to chase after the kids, to feel the ground on my feet and the wind in my hair. I wanted to scream and laugh with the kids. I wanted to spend hours upon hours just laughing and playing different games with them. Instead, I have to do a silly little dance to try to impress them. Dances that I've done for so many years.

The kids would always laugh at my little dance moves. I would take a deep bow, grinning from ear to ear. After the shows were over, the kid's parents would come and walk them home. It always made me sad to watch them leave. But it made me even sadder to watch their mothers hugging them and kissing them. The kid's would always look so happy to see their mothers.

I would always feel left out.

I never had a mother. Only a father whom I love very much. He would always care for me. I never would've asked for more.

I loved performing for kids.

I loved the way they would holler, whoop, and clap after each of my performances. The way they would be so upset that we were leaving. They loved me and family so much. I would always be upset that we were leaving. Even though I known them for a few days, I felt like we were best friends who knew each other for years and years.

A few months later, however, I became weary in my performances. I wouldn't move and dance like how I used to. I wouldn't put in as much effort like how I used to. My father noticed it and asked me if I was alright.

I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything anyways. He knows that; yet he still talks to me like we were in a conversation. I hated him for it.

I became angry with him. It's his fault that I can't speak. It's his fault I was controlled all my life.

So, I did what a normal being would do. I got revenge.

I waited for midnight to strike. I sat up, looking around at my brothers and sisters who were sleeping. I stood up. I tiptoed past them all and made my way to my fathers room.

There he was, sleeping. I smile.

I wrapped my precious little strings, the ones I carried around with me for all of my life, around his neck.

I pulled as tight as I could. My strings are tiny but they're really strong.

My father's eyes flashed open, watching me. They plead with me but my guilt is heavily shadowed by my hate.

I pulled even harder till the skin on his neck gets red. Soon the string digs into his skin.

He tried fighting. He tried knocking me off his bed, but I would ducked from his hand.

Then, he fell limp. I poked him, just to be sure. He didn't move.

I reached for a pair of scissors on his nightstand and cut the strings. They loosened around his neck, showing the thin line on where they cut my father's skin.

I smiled. He's dead. My dream is fulfilled now. After so long of pain and being told what to do. Of hating everyone around me, smiling and laughing at my imprisonment.

I am now free. I can finally do whatever I want and nobody would tell me otherwise. I don't have to live under anybody's rules anymore. I wouldn't be anybody's puppet anymore.

I finally have my own life. I'm not going to be pushed or pulled by anyone ever again.

All my life I was told what to do. I was told what to say, how to act, even how to dress. It felt like my life wasn't mine to have. I was being controlled.

I was a puppet.

A marionette to be exact.