Master of Puppets
MASTER OF PUPPETS
By SuperFolder Jawa
Date: March 27th
To my successor:
Congratulations on making it this far. I’m proud of you. You have shown true talent in all areas in which you’ve been tested. I applaud you. However, this are still many, many things you must learn.
My origin story begins when I was 7 years old. I lived with my parents in Harlem, just as I do now. Except for one minor detail: My dad is dead. He’s been dead for nearly 5 years now, and you have no idea how happy I am.
You see, that man, I can’t even call him my father. He hurt me. Hurt my mother. Very badly. One night he comes home late. He’s been at a bar, drinking more than he should’ve. This made him very irritable. So I unknowingly walk downstairs at 3 in the morning for a glass of milk. I’ll just say that a gallon of milk is pretty heavy for a 7 year old, and I spilled it. All over the kitchen floor. I start bawling, my dad wakes up, and walks into the kitchen and sees the mess. He stares at me.
His fist hits the counter so hard it sounds like thunder. He begins yelling and berating me while my mother rushes downstairs. She tries to protect me, but he pushes her into the floor as he grabs me. Mother starts screaming while my dad puts his fist around my neck. My eyes start to close, but then:
The boys in blue kicked open the door, and tackled my dad to the ground. He let go of me just before he hit the floor. The officers helped my mom to her feet, and picked me up and put me in an ambulance. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed and my mom crying. I tried to ask here what was wrong, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t speak.
Turns out, my father had crushed my trachea, hindering my ability to speak, most likely for the rest of my life. He had been taken to jail after the incident, and we filed a restraining order against him. We never heard anything about him again until my 10th birthday, when we were notified that he’d been killed by a local gang after some, deals gone wrong.
It was then, that I vowed to become what I am today.
The time has come. Tonight, I serve justice for the first time.
Shortly after my 10th birthday, I began to research anything and everything. I’ve learned many skills over the last five years, such as ASL and lip reading, but the most important skill I picked up was that of martial arts. I watched countless YouTube videos and read hundreds of articles and many books on how to protect myself. I practiced for 5 years. It all leads to this night.
I didn’t know much about what happened to my father after the incident that would change my life that night, except the name of the gang that killed him. The Rivals.
I don’t know a whole lot about The Rivals, but if I thought my dad was a bad guy and they iced him, they must be some pretty bad guys. The vow that I made on my 10th birthday was that I would “take care of” them.
I have to sneak out now, because my mother has been so worried about me ever since I lost my ability to speak. She blames herself for my disability, and “Regrets not leaving my father every single day.” she says. I sign to her that I’m fine, but she just can’t bring herself to accept that yet. Maybe when she finds out what happens tonight she will understand.
I put on my white hood, and dark blue t-shirt and jeans. I took inspiration for my costume from my favorite comic character. He always anticipates the next move, just like me. He will never fail, and neither will I.
It’s 2:30 in the morning, pitch black, except for a few trash can fires and the occasional streetlamp. This is the alley. The alley where “accidents” can happen. It’s one of the spots where The Rivals hang out. They do things here. Bad things. And I’m going to stop it.
I walk into the alley, and – [REDACTED]
Note By Tilly:
I had to cut this part out because of some, or pretty much all of the things that Aaron wrote, are too graphic to put in a case file, so I’ll just say that he beat all the guys up and went home.
As soon as I got home, I texted my cousin, Darian, and told him all about what went down. Darian is pretty much my only “real” friend. It’s too bad he lives in Madison, though. He goes to one of those weird “origami schools” that keep popping up for some reason.
Darian: That’s crazy, dude!
Aaron: Oh just wait till you hear what I did next! I – [REDACTED]
Note By Tilly:
Darian: No way! If this happened at Kirby, some kid would’ve just shoved a puppet in a guys face.
Aaron: Yeah, it’s pretty cool, I just wish my back didn’t hurt this much.
Darian: You wouldn’t have that problem if you just folded an origami puppet.
Aaron: Don’t you mean kirigami?
Aaron: I’d have to glue his cape on.
Darian: Oh…I still don’t get it.
Aaron: Of course you don’t, you have an IQ of 7.
Aaron: Kidding! (Kinda.) But that puppet thing isn’t a bad idea.
Darian: What do you mean?
Aaron: Let’s just say there’s room for another “origami school.”
This is where the true origin begins.
I went to the store and pick up a crapton of supplies. Colored pencils, crayons, markers, tape, glue, and of course, origami paper. I was going to make the best puppet that Perez High will ever see.
Several hours of hard work later, I created my magnum opus:
TaskPlaster, was born. I had to glue his cape on, hence the name. But now, it’s time for me to bring him to Perez High and start phase one of my master plan.
I brought TaskPlaster into Perez, displaying him proudly on my left pointer finger. I really need to find another way to display him though, wearing a finger puppet doesn’t really help when you’re doing sign language.
So I walk in, and immediately he draws attention. Kids start staring, whispering amongst themselves. I make it all the way to lunch until the kids start cornering me.
I recognize some of them. They’re Rivals.
This should be fun.
I got beat up. I came home with a black eye and a cracked rib. When my mom saw me, that was bad. I went to the emergency room, but they didn’t really do anything. Thankfully TaskPlaster was okay. I put him in my pocket before the fight started.
I could’ve taken them though. I let them beat me up. It’s all part of my plan. I knew as soon as I walked into that school with that puppet, I was a goner. And that’s why I did it.
I talked my mom into letting me transfer schools.
Where I am going, you may ask?
Why Kirby, of course.