Puppet request

Tears streamed down the face of the child as he blindly ran through the crowded restaurant, screaming for his mother. A blond-haired employee watched him as he went. A hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose as the child disappeared into the crowd and his screams melded into the background noise.

“Remember what your therapist said,” he muttered to himself, “don’t get stressed out over every little thing.”

Removing his hand from his face and ignoring the building headache, the employee spun on his heel and walked to where he suspected the problem started. Threading his way between rowdy drunk adults and rowdier hopefully-not-drunk children, the employee made his way to the Prize Corner. It was there that he found his suspicions to be well-founded.

“Get out of here little Schmidt. You’ll need more tickets if you want my shit.”

Of course it was the puppet.

The little snot-nosed kid waiting in front of the counter looked confused. “But mister puppet, I have enough tickets. The Foxy the Pirate action figure with Real Booty-Pillaging Action™ is only 200, and I’ve got way more than that.” With that, he gestured to the pile of tickets beside him.

The puppet contorted in rage behind the counter. “Listen here you little cunt dropping. If you don’t go the fuck away I’ll make you start sobbing.”

The young boy, Schmidt, waddled away, but not before making a comment. “You’re not very nice, mister puppet.”

“Go suck on a knot, kid!”

It was then that the employee made his presence known. “Dammit Marionette, I’ve told you before that you can’t hoard prizes.”

All he got in response was a raised finger.

“You know what, screw this. I’m telling the manager.”



A knock on the door startled the manager out of his daydreaming. He quickly extracted a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped away the sweat that had accumulated on his bald head before inviting his visitor in.

When the door swung open he greeted his visitor. “Ah, Mr. Johnson. Please, come in.”

His worker cut to the chase the moment he closed the door. “Sir, the Marionette is refusing to hand out prizes again.”

“Oh dear.” A sigh. “I’ll go out and speak with him. Hopefully this will be the last time. Maybe this time the punishment will stick.”

The man opposite him slouched. “If only we could be so lucky.”



In the early hours of the next morning, Toy Bonnie nudged Toy Freddy.

“Hey, what’s up with the Marionette? I haven’t seen him tonight.”

The bear straightened his bowtie before responding. “It seems he was keeping prizes away from the children again.”

Toy Bonnie gasped. “Oh no, how horrible.”

“Indeed,” Toy Freddy said with a sniff. “If you wish to see him, he’s by the prize counter undergoing his punishment.”

Toy Bonnie, curious, decided to ignore the guard for now and see what was happening at the Prize Corner. As he got closer, he froze in his tracks. A laugh bubbled up from his voicebox before he could suppress it.

“Yuck it up,” the puppet spit. In his hands was one of Balloon Boy’s signs, which read “I’m a tightwad.” The Marionette snarled at Toy Bonnie as he started laughing.

“I hate everything.”