Political Puppet

No. No this wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening. Jason swayed and bobbed, his head swivelling clumsily around to catch the glassy-eyed stare of the woman with the red bag as she gambolled past him again in a rough approximation of a walking motion. Her skin had a gleam, a sheen he hadn’t noticed before. Like polished wood. Her smile was fixed and red, her hair stringy and yellow. The red bag swung gaily from a hand with painted-on fingers.

But the eyes. They stared at him with a terrified pleading. An unspoken desperation. Then she was past, loping along with her disturbing gait, and Jason’s head wouldn’t turn to follow her. His neck was stiff, his limbs were heavy, moving with jerks and twitches he could not control. He tried to scream, but he had no breath.

Jason felt himself pulled up and down by his head, his knees rising and falling as he was turned in a circle. A glassy screen came into view, roughly twice his height. Through it he could see giants. Laughing giants clapping and jeering, the sounds heavily muffled as though he were under water. He tried to sob, to cry, to shout for help, but no sound escaped him. His hand raised to wave drunkenly at the crowd as he bobbed up and down on his disjointed knees.

Josie, in the crowd, clapped hardest of all.

 

End

 





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