The Puppeteer

By MaeEadie

Do you ever get the feeling you're being controlled? Like you are a victim of a greater plan? Like fists are pounding the earth beneath you and you are left to pick yourself up?
Florence did.
The pounding fists controlled her.
The frescreets controlled her.
Rafael controlled her.
Hiter controlled her.
And I controlled them all.
Yet somehow Florence managed to slip through my fingers.
She was uncontrollable.
Independent.
A purine.
She slipped out of my strings and got away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MaeEadie
• Release date: Jul 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310792250

MaeEadie

Mae Eadie is a high school student in Melbourne, Australia. She has always loved reading and that passion for story telling inspired her to write her own novel. Mae plans to write more in the near future as she thoroughly enjoyed writing and creating The Puppeteer.

Book preview

An introduction

15th May 1938

*

This is the beginning of a story.

As you may have guessed.

You may have also noticed the date,

a year or so before the world ended.

I assume you have all heard of Anne Franke.

The Roosevelt family.

Sir Winston Churchill

and of course,

Adolf Hitler.

But have you heard of this wartime idol?

Her name is Florence Mele.

She is just like you,

that is,

if you are a Purine.

*

There were six of them. Each just as unlikely as the other.

Hair thick with leaves. Skin whiter than paper. Eyes round and glassy, like marbles.

These were not your average forest dwellers.

Peering between branches, they watched the girl below. Her strawberry hair quivered in the water. The blueness of her eyes was mesmerising, pale and clean.

Three blackbirds swooped in beside them, their beady eyes riddled with hunger.

Time to go.

The creatures swung down the branches, their tiny bodies clever and nimble.

Their hushed whispers continued.

But they already knew, this girl was the one.

They turned on their heels, silent as ever, lasting images of the girl were etched behind their eyelids.

*

The pages crinkled between her fingers.

The cover was soft on her legs.

The book sat in Florence's lap and was receiving a good examination. Each letter in each word was studied. A story pulled together, piece by piece, ink blot by ink blot.

The lemony sun rose up over the window sill and kissed Florence on her chin.

*

The day was dawning,

as is our story.

*

Guten morgen Papa. Florence announced as she entered the room, flashing Gabriel Mele an affectionate grin.

Guten morgen Flory, mein liebling.

Florence stirred the porridge, watching it become more and more sloppy. It made her sick.

She quietly hummed under her breath, her mind wandered.

Two pairs of small feet thundered down the stairs, landing heavily at the bottom.

What's for breakfast? Oh, guten morgen Flory.

Florence smiled at the familiar high pitched voice of her beloved little brother.

Guten morgen Ollie. We're having porridge, sorry. After seeing the dismayed expression appear on his bold little face, she quietly added, I can add a little sugar if you want?

Danke. he whispered back. He saw his wooden trains lying on the floor. He bounded over to them, picking them up and crashing them into the table leg.

Florence slopped three spoonfuls into each bowl and carried them over to the old wooden table.

Oliver scraped back his little chair and began wolfing down his sweetened porridge, fooling his father again into thinking he enjoyed it.

Elbows off the table mister.

Oh, sorry Papa.

Florence sat pushing her porridge around her plate, still with her mind wandering, planning how to get away for a few hours.

Flory, are you okay liebling?

Oh, sorry, ja I'm fine. She stepped out from the table, carrying her untouched breakfast back to the kitchen. Leaving it beside the sink, she flew back up to her room.

Ollie and I are going down to town to get some food soon, you'll be alright?

Ja, I'll be fine. Florence called back. 'Perfect! There will be no one to see me go.' She shut the door behind her and quietly turned the lock. She lifted her window sill and swung her leg out, onto the scratchy straw on the roof. She jumped down, the impact tingled in her feet. Florence glanced into the kitchen window.

The coast was clear.

Darting between the scraggly bushes, she was quickly at the tree line and out of sight.

*

Florence entered the woods, a fog hung around the leaves.

Left, right at the next tree, left down the hill, keep following the stream. She followed the well-trodden path down to a clearing. Her clearing.

On the far side, there was a pool, surrounded by moss, full of algae.

Florence slipped out of her cotton nightgown and let it fall around her ankles. The water prickled her thighs with goose bumps as she stepped in. She lay back, her face submerged in the coolness. She ran her hand through the water, smooth and clean, like silk. A light breeze brushed Florence's toes that were sticking out from under the water. The surrounding trees shivered quietly in the wind. A chill ran down her spine. The pool no longer felt safe. How strange it was that the atmosphere can change with the smallest provocation. She quickly patted her wet skin down with a handful of moss, and she slipped her nightdress back on.

She left the clearing, thinking about the millions of chores that awaited her return. A merry bird chirped in the distance as it burst through the tree tops.

The leaves cracked and snapped under Florence's bare feet. She stepped into the gentle stream, holding her dress above her ankles. Florence padded upstream, sharp rocks pointing at her. Her hair flapped gently around her back, the long soft mess of it tucked behind her ears.

The river widened, rapids forming in the distance. Time to stop.

She perched on top of a large rock, warming her back in the sun.

It never ceased to amaze her, how the forest made her feel. It was like she was holding her breath every day, just waiting for the trees to engulf her and give her some air to breathe. It was so quiet, so peaceful, so isolated and almost surreal. There weren't any insistent classmates trying to invade your brain, no adults looking down their nose at your 'pitiful ways and appearance', no walls around you to block out your visions, thoughts and breath.

Inhale. Exhale.

She lay back, palms under head, the sun resting on her closed eyelids. A song danced off her tongue.

"Down in the apple tree meadow,

Two little girls wait for the grass to grow.

One wears plaits and the other a bow,

Laughing and singing, faces aglow.

Their voices carry across the land,

Sister and sister, hand in hand.

Dancing and playing with heads in the sand,

Innocent dreams of wonderland..."

Florence sniffed, wiping her tears away. She hadn't noticed them coming.

She tried to quickly shake her sister’s old song out of her head but it was no use. It would never leave. Little rivers of pain and memory ran down her face. Painful thoughts of her big sister washed over her in waves. She clutched her knees, gasping for air, trying not to choke on her tears.

Florence slipped out of the present and into the past, memories overwhelmed her and she fell onto the ground, slipping into a semiconscious state. She gave in to it, letting it choke and blind her. She helplessly watched the rapid torrent of urgent memories, the images of her past dancing in front of her eyes...

*

Two girls lay on a bed of grass,

drying mud peeping through the blades.

They looked so similar.

One girl was tall and the other small.

They both wore a veil of strawberry blond hair.

The smaller child had her hair plaited into two thick ropes that lay at strange angles above her head.

The taller one couldn't have been more than fifteen years old.

Gracie, Florence began, Can we please climb that tree? she pleaded.

Well... started Grace.

Please?!

Well okay, let's go little silly. Florence skipped merrily, her hot, clammy hand grasped by Grace.

Okay, come here and I'll lift you. Grace lifted Florence up by her little waist. She squealed in delight. Florence scrambled up to the first branch. Her seven year old hands pulled her body up, struggling.

She wore a lush coat of spring leaves.

The tree swallowed her up, only her feet were visible from the ground.

Okay Gracie, you can come up now. Florence giggled childishly.

The wood was scratchy beneath her, flicking off in chunks as she wriggled around.

She waited for her sister but no one came.

Gracie, stop hiding. Florence laughed again. Big sisters are so good at playing games.

Gracie? Come on! You can come up now. There was still no response.

Grace? Florence slid down from her hidden perch.

Something felt wrong.

Grace where are you? Florence was getting worried. Grace usually came out after just one call. She licked the little trickle of blood coming out of the fresh scrape on her hand.

Grace! she called. Grace! Her heart was beating fast, punching her chest.

'Right.' she thought to herself. 'Right. She's probably just gone to get a drink or something.'

Florence trotted over to the path they arrived on.

Her breathing was ragged and painful.

Panic can do that to a person.

She was nearly there when she saw a red piece of torn cloth, snagged on a wild blackberry bush. Florence's heart skipped at least ten beats as she fingered the torn piece of her sisters apron.

She hurried on, calling Grace's name.

A few terrifying metres on, Florence picked up one of Grace's white ribbons that she had worn only minutes earlier.

Florence let out a small, frightened squeak and hurried on, clutching the two torn items in her sweating hand.

Grace! Grace! Oh Gracie please come out! she screamed desperately.

Hot tears stung her eyes.

She wiped them away furiously.

'None of that.'

Grace!

She stopped.

There, on the ground in front of her, was a patch of scrambled earth.

Dirt was everywhere.

Grass was everywhere.

Leaves where everywhere.

It was fresh.

Florence had no reason to think who had caused the jumble of earth.

She already knew.

A new coat of fear had been painted onto the walls of her heart.

Grace? she asked, pathetically. She slumped to the ground.

She couldn't accept it.

But she knew.

She knew in her heart of hearts, that Grace was lost.

Gone.

Vanished.

Now there was nothing left to do but cry.

So that's what she did.

*

Heaven Clouds

15th May 1938

Florence rubbed her puffy eyes. She sat up and wiped the blood away from where her teeth bit her lip.

It stung.

She stood, unsteadily. Her head spinning.

The stream was so inviting. Cool, clear. She stood and lay down in the middle of the stream. The water ran over her, rushing. How lovely.

It soothed her aching head, stroking the pain away. She shivered. No pain meant no distraction. The water was getting cold and her arms were getting numb. Time to go.

*

It came off the tree with a satisfying snap. Checking over her shoulder, Florence ran away, into the shadows. It would be unfortunate if her neighbour saw.

She sat down under a large pine, the ground was strewn with needles. The apple held in one hand and a pine cone by the other. She flicked the pine cone away and took and extra-large bite out of the apple. Delicious.

She lay back against the tree trunk. Her lashes kissed her cheekbones. The sun shone through the leaves like stage spotlights. The sunlight warmed her face, swallowing the shade. It held her in its warm mouth before spitting her out again into the shade of a shadow.

Herr Pawlitzki's shadow.

It loomed over her like a great beast. Florence shoved the apple core behind her back, hastily. Obviously not hastily enough.

Give. he said in his gruff voice. Florence hesitated. Now. She gave him the apple core, sweating and blushing. He snatched it away and she waited for the bomb to explode. He pinched her ear, twisting it painfully. If I catch you stealing one of my apples again kleines mädchen, you won't be able to sit down for at least a month, do you hear me you thieving dummkopf!?

Ja Herr Pawlitzki. she replied hurriedly, darting away, legs pumping and ear throbbing.

Close call.

Florence ran back to her room, scraping her legs and forgetting to be quiet.

Her nighty was still soaked from the river as she peeled it off and added it to Ollie's pile of dirty clothes. A fresh dress was pulled on, and a new ribbon tied up.

Sitting on the end of her bed, she held a book. Florence was immersed in a book entitled Heaven Clouds. The soft green leather of the cover lay on her lap. She opened it up and read intently, the last paragraph unravelling from the page;

The shrill tune of his piccolo filled his young ears as his shining eyes kissed the heavens above. The heavens have come today, and the angels have come to play. Silence. The boy put down his instrument. He reached up. His little hand held the hands of his grandmother. He looked into her teary eyes. She held his hand. Her pure white wings beat gently and the boy’s bare feet left the ground. They soared up, into the sky. The boy and his grandmother never parted. Held by the hand, joined by the heart, united.

Florence gently closed the book, not wanting to spoil the moment for herself. The front door squeaked open and slammed shut.

Florence? I'm back. Could you help unpack the shopping? Florence let out an exasperated sigh. Yet another book ending was ruined. She trudged grumpily down the stairs slipping on some rotting wood halfway down.

Benjamin Seelenfreund

16th May 1938

Florence pulled her cardigan on and lifted her brown satchel over her head. She ran out the door and down the path. She bounded down the shaded street and stopped at the gate, six houses down.

Hurry up Ben, I swear, if we're late again!

I'm coming. Heck, keep your head on! Florence allowed herself a small grin. This mourning routine was all too familiar. The boy's mop of dark hair flopped around as he jumped down his front steps and bounded over to Florence. They ran in the chilly May breeze. Keep up slow poke! Benjamin shouted over his shoulder, his red scarf flapping in the wind behind him. Florence grinned and sped up, chasing her friend down to the end of the road. Her strawberry blond hair waving behind her.

*

The shrill school bell rang. The students of the Swiss Oberstufenschule traipsed to class.

Come on Florence, we need to run! They had heard the bell ring and they were still three streets away.

They burst into the classroom, puffing and panting, not wanting to look Frau Baasch in the eye. Her forehead crinkled and her small mouth puckered up into the familiar shape that got her the name 'Katze Hintern.' Her eyebrows rose up above her hail line and her bony hands rose to her hips.

Out. Now. The pair of you. Twenty seven pairs of amused eyes followed Ben and Florence into the corridor.

Who do you think you are? Turning up late and interrupting my class. I expect you to be here on time. Do you hear me?! Frau Baasch gave the motion and Flory and Ben turned around to receive their punishment.

*

Frau Baasch was not good at playing the game of patience.

*

Florence and Ben scuttled back to their desks, their cheeks blushed a bright red. All around their classmates snickered and smirked.

Right, open your books. Frau Baasch wrote on the blackboard with her precise chopping motions. Monday 16th May 1938

3x+45.2y-36...

Benjamin Seelenfreund tuned out. He let the long, confusing numbers roll over his head. He gazed out the window at the town beyond. He longed to be out of class and out under the sun. The dirty road outside looked in need of a good pounding, preferably from his feet and his football. The stuffy classroom glazed his eyes, mirages jiggled out on the road.

Ben didn't care about school. His parents made him go and they thought that holding him back a year would help.

It didn't.

The only benefit was that he had Florence there to help him. He didn't mind being mocked by all the other fifteen year olds. Florence was always there. He searched for her, finally resting his eyes on the long veil of hair that flowed down her back like a waterfall. He longed to touch it. He wondered what it would feel like.

Benjamin! Katze Hintern looked fiercely into his eyes, burning him on the spot.

The school bell rang for the end of the day, and all the students dashed out.

Bye Greta, see you tomorrow. Florence and Ben waved goodbye to their curly haired friend, and turned left out of the gate.

How's your hintern?

Oh it's bloody awful! I think she's been saving her energy for that! I won't be able to sit down for a year! Florence smiled at her friends exaggerations. The sun warmed their chilled backs. She breathed in the earthy smell of autumn. Their empty satchels swung about their thighs as they dawdled home.

With flushed cheeks, Florence left Ben at his garden gate, and continued along the familiar road. She jogged home, late.

Garden treasure

16th May 1938

She was late yet again. She hurried home to greet her father at the door.

Hello Papa.

Hello Florence, where have you been? Never mind, could you look after Ollie? I need to duck out for a minute... Gabriel Mele trailed off as he ran out the small wooden door, leaving little Oliver with Florence. She shut the old door and ushered Ollie further into the house. To her surprise, the little boy took her hand in his grubby one and led her out the back door.

Come on Flory, I need to show you something.

Okay... Where are we going? Oliver led her to the back of their garden, past all the scraggly bushes and to the edge of the trees.

The little eight year old boy with the grubby face bent down and began digging in the dirt.

Ollie? What are you doing? but the boy did not answer. He continued on digging a hole at the back of their garden, under the very last bush. Little clumps of dirt flicked up and hit Florence on her nose.

Under the boy's scrabbling fingers, a small cream object protruded from the earth.

Aha! he leant in close.

What is it? Florence asked, astounded.

I don't know. I found it this morning when I was playing in the dirt before school. he said. Florence gently brushed away the surrounding dirt and plucked it from the ground.

It's too dirty, I can't tell what it is. We need to wash it. Florence walked inside, Oliver eagerly following his older sister down to the back door and into the kitchen. The tap dripped into life and ridded the muck from the mystery object.

Oh Flory! What is it?! I can't see! The impatient little boy dragged a chair over to the sink and stood on it, peering over his sister's thin shoulder. Florence twisted the tap off and dried the object with her cardigan sleeve. She turned it over in her palm.

It's porcelain. she announced.

Can I see? Florence passed Oliver the porcelain object.

I know what it is! A piece from a statue from Ancient Rome. I was reading about it today. Florence couldn't suppress