the puppet master

I could feel the repulsed expression form on my face as though invisible strings were attached to all of my features and a puppet master knew how to finesse them just so. Thusly, one brow and one side of my mouth were tugged upwards, sliding gracefully into The Sneer. I wore it well.

“Yeah, you and every other man in the world,” I replied dryly from across the formica table top. Jesus. What was I doing here? I hadn’t been to a Marie Callender’s in nearly a decade, and with good reason. The franchise was well past its prime; it felt as though the very air within its walls was fading, and if I continued to sit here in this ridiculously large booth, I would fade right along with it.

“I want to help you,” he insisted with raspy urgency. “You might be tired of working those ‘mind-numbing, soul-crushing gigs,’ as you call them, but the starving artist thing is too clichéd for you.” He leaned forward, brow furrowed. “How do you expect to feed yourself? I can see that you’re going hungry.”

“I have a fast metabolism,” I retorted, though the wolfish way in which I was devouring my burger wasn’t exactly subtle. “And what do you mean when you say you want to help me? How do you propose to do that?”

“You need money…right?”

“Yes, I always need money, but what would you want in return? What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know what I want from you. I haven’t figured that out yet.” He had that look in his eyes, that hazy, glazed over, your-beauty-puts-me-in-a-trance look. It made me want to punch him in his stupid face or hurl or both.

“If that’s the truth…and you really do have this deep-seated urge to throw money at me…you’re going to have to come up with a task that utilizes my professional skills. I’m not comfortable with the idea of taking a hand-out.”

“Will you just relax?” he implored. “What changed between the coffee shop and here? You’re like a different person now.”

“No…you’re like a different person now. At the coffee shop, you and your cronies were a group of non-threatening old men who were fun and easy to banter with. I agreed to come to lunch with you because you seemed like good company…harmless. Now? I’m not so sure.”

“I’m insulted,” he sniffed. “If I’m going to help you, we need to be able to trust each other.”

The puppet master yanked the outer corners of my eyes and nostrils. Glaring and flaring, I epitomized Indignant Outrage.

“I just met you – how can you even suggest that? My stomach’s telling me that trusting you is the last thing I should do. Why is that?”

~ a normal phenomenon that is now ignorant *peace*  :)

let’s perform well, live well n wrap this up after all this days