That morning, Aubree ate some week-old brownies for breakfast. After brushing her teeth, she spat blood into the sink. It had been a few years since her last dentist appointment.

Afterwards, she went for a walk around her neighborhood. Although not particularly hungry, she decided that brownies hadn’t been a sufficient enough meal. Maybe some scrambled eggs would be better.

So when she got back, she turned on the burner, cracked some eggs into a pan, and killed time by watching that “Rick and Morty” video essay on her laptop. The narrator spoke really fast and loudly, which was kind of annoying. “So what do Friedrich Nietzsche, Soren Kierkegaard, and Rick Sanchez all have in common? They each share a conviction in the innate meaninglessness of life, and of the universe’s indifference towards humanity.”

Suddenly, the fire alarm went off. A flame had erupted from the burner. She turned it off, but the fire kept burning and the alarm kept beeping. The narrator was also still babbling from her laptop. "Because Rick has traveled to so many different worlds and universes, he views other people as being utterly insignificant in the grand scheme of–" Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

She filled up a pot with water and poured it on the burner, which killed the flame. Then she paused the video.

Aubree sat in the corner of the kitchen, rocking back and forth for the next twenty minutes.

On her way to work, she ran into some construction on a three-way intersection. Half the road had been taken up by steamrollers and dump trucks. It smelled like hot tar. Construction dust choked the air. A guy with a hard-hat held up a stop sign so cars driving on the other side could pass through. After what felt like an hour, the guy turned the sign, motioning Aubree to pass through. But because it was a three-way intersection, and because of the weird placement of the cones, Aubree couldn’t tell which road he wanted her to go down. The cars behind her honked. “Go down that road!” The guy pointed in a vague direction.

“I’m sorry, which one?” Aubree said.

“That one!”

Aubree dug her fingers into the steering wheel. Her heart raced. Which one was he talking about? More honking from behind. The worker kept pointing and shouting, but for some reason his instructions couldn’t get through her thick skull. Eventually, he approached her car.

“You have to go down that road! I’m pointing and you’re not listening to me!”

“I’m trying to listen! I just don’t—” If she went down the wrong road, she could risk driving into oncoming traffic. She tapped the accelerator, but quickly hit the break. Now she was in the middle of the intersection.

“I’m gonna say this one more time!” the worker said. “Go down that road! Follow the cones!” It must have been so obvious to him and everyone else. And yet Aubree was too stupid to just get it.

Fuck it. She floored it and drove down a random road. Luckily, the further she drove, the more assured she felt that she had chosen the right way. As she sped past the worker, Aubree thought she heard the worker say: “Dumb bitch.”

Work made her really angry today. A customer with a deadpan face wanted a plastic bag for his bananas. Aubree threw them in, but there was a hole in the bag. So she got another one. But this one had a hole too. The customer just stared at her and said nothing. Aubree walked around to the side of the register to grab a new batch of bags from the cubby, but they also all had holes in them. "I'm sorry sir, there doesn’t seem to be—" she began, but he interrupted her.

"I can wait."

Aubree sighed and searched through the cubby of a different register. They all had fucking holes in them.

The customer was staring at his shoes now. Aubree told Mike about the bag situation, and he rolled his eyes before going to the back of the store to fetch some more bags. Luckily, these bags had no holes. She threw the bananas in the new bags, the man paid and left without thanking her.

On the way home from work, Aubree passed the steel factory again. The woman wasn’t there this time.

Then she came home and saw several empty bottles of red wine on the kitchen counter. She heard her mom sobbing in the closet.

Oh right. It was her and dad’s anniversary.

Aubree went upstairs to her room and lay in bed for about an hour, staring at the ceiling. She could still hear her mom sobbing through the floor. She put on headphones and listened to classical music, but she could still feel her mother sobbing. Aubree tried turning the music up, but no matter how loud it was, she could still feel her mother’s sobbing deep in her bones.

In a second she was on Google again.

On her next day off, she returned to the library. There, Aubree saw Taylor leaning against the same window, drawing in her sketchbook again. It had been a cloudy day, so no sunbeams shone this time. Taylor offered her usual smile.

“You like books a lot, huh?”

“Uh, sure, yeah.” Aubree kept her right hand behind her back. “I’m guessing you’re here for another show?”

“Yuperoo. Same time every Sunday.``

“Gotcha.” Aubree’s heart raced. Her voice trembled. “Hey, I have a question. If that’s okay.”

Taylor’s smile softened. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Um, well, I…” Hesitating, Aubree pulled her right arm out from behind her back, revealing a blue sock puppet with googly eyes and pink cotton nose. “His name is Grover,” she said.

“...Oh.” Taylor nodded. She seemed either pleasantly surprised or creeped out. “He’s pretty cute.”

“I guess. You see. Your puppets. They look really good. I kinda wanted to—” Aubree’s throat began to clog with spit. She swallowed loudly. “I kinda wanted to try it myself. And you’re the expert, so maybe you could offer some advice.”

“I guess I could. Is this your first puppet?”

“Yeah,” Aubree said. “It’s shitty, right?”

“No, no.” Taylor got up and inspected the puppet. “For a first try, it’s pretty good. Although his eyes are on the sides of his head instead of the front of his face, so he can’t look straight at the audience. Otherwise, pretty good.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

Silence.

"...So, yeah." Aubree's heart pounded. Taylor’s gaze had fallen to the floor. She definitely looked creeped out now. What else could Aubree possibly say? Apologize, she thought. Apologize for wasting her time. Tell her you weren't sure why you even came in here, or why you made this ugly puppet. Doesn't matter if it makes you look pathetic. Just end this unbearable silence.

"I was wondering..." Random words spilled from her lips. "Can you show me how you do it? Make puppets, I mean?"

Taylor’s eyes lit up. Just a little, though. “Sure. I’d love to. I've got a show to do in an hour, but afterwards, when my mom picks me up, you can follow us back to our house and I can show you my workshop.”

"Yes," Aubree said, louder than she meant. "Yes, yes. That'd totally be cool. Except, I’m not very good at following people while driving. I lose people pretty quickly.”

They were quiet for a bit.

Why the hell did you say that? Aubree thought. You just made yourself look like a fucking idiot.

“You can also ride with us,” Taylor said at last.

“Okay. Cool. Thanks.”

Aubree stuck around for the next couple hours. Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall and questioned whether his life was worth living. Holy shit.

After the show, Taylor’s mom pulled up in her car outside the library, and they got in. Aubree sat in the back seat next to a patio chair.

“Sorry about the chair,” Taylor’s mom said. “I just got back from Lowe’s because I needed something for my back porch.”

“That’s okay. I understand,” Aubree said.

“It was on sale, too.”

“Oh.” Aubree nodded. “That’s pretty cool.”

They drove through a neighborhood via a small one lane road. Soon, they passed a wrecked car. The front had been totally pulverized, with wires, pieces of metal and shards of glass all over the ground. The engine had burst into flames too. Police cars and an ambulance had parked behind it, and an approaching fire truck blared in the distance.

Aubree wondered how a vehicle could’ve gotten into that kind of accident on such a tiny one lane road.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“So Taylor, where did you meet Abigail?” her mom said.

“She was there when I did Little Red Riding Hood,” Taylor said. “Look mom, Abigail made her own puppet.”

“Actually, my name is…” Aubree began. But instead she showed Grover to Taylor’s mom. “His name is Grover.”

“Oh, he’s adorable!” Taylor’s mom said. “And he’s your first puppet too?”

“Yeah.” Aubree glanced at Taylor, who was drawing in her sketchbook. She smelled sharp and sweet, like a pine tree. “Not as good as your puppets, Taylor. I’m curious; how long have you been making them?”

“Since I was little.” Taylor’s eyes remained on her sketchbook. “I used to watch old episodes of Sesame Street and the Muppet Show on our VCR. My mom bought me a Kermit puppet when I was seven, and then I kept demanding more and more puppets, and eventually my mom was like: ‘Taylor! We got you all the puppets in the world! Stop asking us for more!’ And I was like: ‘Alright, fine! I’ll just start making my own puppets!’ And I learned how to do it, and then I performed a few times at my school talent shows and at our church, and then I started studying puppetry arts at UConn, and now here I am, a twenty-one year old crazy puppet lady with no life outside of making and performing puppets. It’s really sad. Right mom?” Both she and her mom laughed a little.

“No, no. It’s really—” Aubree slumped back into her seat. “You’re really passionate, Taylor.”

“Aw. Thank you. I just care alot about wiggling dolls around.”

“I didn’t know you could study puppetry as a major,” Aubree said. “Can you make a living out of that?”

Taylor shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Sesame Street’s always an option. So is the Jim Henson Company. I could also keep doing local kid’s shows until the day I die and barely make ends’ meet. Doesn’t really matter to me. As long as I keep working with puppets, and as long as kids and grown-ups resonate with what I’m doing, everything’s gonna be hunky-dory for me.”

Aubree smiled a little. “Cool. That’s really cool.”

Taylor and her mom lived at the end of a dead-end street. The house looked like the others surrounding it; two-stories with white wooden walls and a blue gable roof. That’s suburbia for you.

“Can you help me get the chair out of the car?” Taylor’s mom said when they parked.

They spent the next ten minutes trying to pry the patio chair from the car door. Somehow, they got it out without breaking anything.

“Thanks for helping my mom out with that,” Taylor said afterwards. “Wanna snack? I can make you a PB&J.”

The thought of eating anything right now made Aubree’s stomach hurt.

“Sure, that’d be cool,” she said. So Taylor made her a sandwich and they went upstairs.

Her room smelled just like her; pine cones and cinnamon and pumpkin spice. Was it her perfume? Incense sticks? Aubree nibbled on her sandwich as she contemplated this.

Taylor opened the door to a walk-in closet, where dozens of puppets sat on several columns of wrap-around shelves.

“Behold! My life’s work!” Animal and abstract characters surrounded them. They all sorta looked like Muppets. Others looked more realistic, like the red, serpent-like dragon that hogged the right-hand corner of the lower shelf. Its scales shimmered in the light of the closet.

“That’s a cool-looking dragon,” Aubree said.

“I made that one for ‘Georgic and Merlin.’ Check it out.” Taylor put her hand into it and suddenly the dragon came to life. It slithered and opened its jaws and blinked. Taylor even made it hiss. “Voilà! The power of puppetry.”

Aubree reached her hand towards it, but hesitated.

“No, no. Go ahead,” Taylor said. Aubree caresses its scales, which could have been made from real reptiles for all she knew. Her heart raced all the while; Taylor’s hand was still inside the puppet.

“Took me two months to make this bad boy. In between classes, eating and sleeping, of course.”

Taylor put it back on the shelf and took out a bag of supplies from a drawer. Felt, foam rubber, cardboard, scissors, a hot glue gun, and a needle and thread. Oh. Right. She was going to teach Aubree how to make a puppet.

“I’ll show you how to make a basic head and mouth. It’s pretty simple, actually.”

And so she demonstrated.

So you trace a flat outline of the puppet's mouth onto a piece of cardboard, and then you cut out the shape and hot-glue, and then you trace the same shape onto a piece of foam rubber, and then you...

Aubree's eyes lingered around the room, looking for the incense sticks. Or the perfume bottles. Anything to explain Taylor's autumnish aroma. Or maybe she just naturally smelled like that? Is that even possible? Or could the smell all be in Aubree's head? No, it was so strong and distinct. It had to come from somewhere.

"And now we're gonna start sewing," Taylor said.

"Right. Cool."

She watched Taylor's soft, brown hands thread a needle with no difficulty. Like a true artist. She had been cutting and sewing for probably over a decade. What a way to spend your childhood. Now Aubree tried to picture Taylor going to school; playing hopscotch at recess, studying for algebra tests, opening her locker, talking with friends at lunch, kicking a soccer ball around during gym class. Did she play sports after school? How good were her grades? How many friends did she have? Did they like puppets too?

Did she ever feel lonely?

Aubree thought about asking, but decided against it. Too personal.

"Alright, there we go." Taylor stuffed her hand into the featureless puppet head. "That's how you do it. Wanna give it a try?"

"Uh, sure." Shit. Aubree hadn't been paying attention this entire time. "Alright. So, what's the first step again?"

"You know that, silly. You take the paper pattern of the mouth, and trace it onto the cardboard."

"Right, right."

Her body felt hot. Try not to sweat again, she told herself.

Aubree couldn't get the thread through the needle. Her hands— sweaty now, of course— kept trembling. "Sorry, sorry," she repeated.

"Don't worry about it. You got this!"

Aubree put it down and dried her hands on her shorts. "So did your friends like playing with puppets too?" she said. "At school, I mean."

"Nah," Taylor said. "But they had their own stuff going on."

"Right, right.”

After a million tries, Aubree finally got it through. Taylor clapped and said: "Hurrah!"

Aubree smiled.

Taylor walked her through the entire process all over again. She didn't seem annoyed. Then again, she could've been hiding it. But she also seemed genuinely supportive and happy whenever Aubree got through a step, offering applause every time.

At last, after what must have been two hours, Aubree finished her puppet head. It looked really lopsided, as if it had suffered a stroke.

"It's beautiful!" Taylor said. "A little crooked. But I can tell you've got a knack for puppet making."

Beautiful? Aubree held her puppet. She had made this. And Taylor thought it looked beautiful. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you."

"My step-dad's coming home soon. Wanna have dinner with us?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'd love to."

They ate chicken and peas. Taylor’s step-dad was quiet, but nice. He told Aubree that he had been working at a car-repair shop since he was eighteen. Life-long passions run in the family, apparently. Now he owned his own shop, and earned a pretty hefty salary. Taylor’s mom worked as an accountant; not exactly her passion, but it paid well, and she seemed to enjoy it just fine.

“What about your family?” she said. “What do they do?”

Aubree prodded her chicken with her fork. “My mom cleans people’s houses.”

“You just live with your mom?”

“Yeah.” It got quiet for a moment. “My dad’s not part of my life anymore,” Aubree added. Everyone looked sorta uncomfortable. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that.

“So Abigail, what do you do?” Taylor’s dad asked.

Aubree put down her fork. “I work at…” All eyes were on her. She couldn’t bear to meet them. “I work at a grocery store.”

“That’s good to hear. Job market’s stuff these days, and stores are always looking for workers,” Taylor’s dad said. “Which store?”

“Fresh Farms Market,” Aubree murmured. “Anyway, your daughter’s really talented. She’s gonna go far, for sure.”

Taylor’s parents smiled at their daughter.

It was getting late. The family insisted that Aubree take home her unfinished PB&J and dinner left-overs in a ziploc bag. Taylor also lent her some foam rubber, sewing equipment, and glue. “When you feel ready to make your own puppet,” Taylor said.

Then they walked her to the front door, and bid her goodbye.

“Um, I…” Aubree’s car was still at the library, so she’d need a ride back. Should she mention it?

“Alright, guess I’ll do some more packing,” Taylor said, already half-way upstairs.

“Wait,” Aubree said. Packing? For what? “Can I…?”

Everyone was staring at her again.

Taylor was bouncing up and down, eager to retreat back to her room. “What’s up, Abigail?”

“Before I go—” Aubree felt herself at the precipice again, under the moon, sunflowers at her feet, slow-dancing with Taylor.

For some reason, it felt as if that world were about to burn up into ash. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if—” Her heart pounded. Come on. Say it. Before it’s too late. “Do you wanna hang out next week? I dunno, get lunch or something?” Taylor walked up another step.

“Aw, sorry Abigail. Don’t know if I can. I’m moving back to Connecticut for school next week, and packing’s gonna take up all my time. Do you use Discord? You can always message me if you have any puppetry questions.”

Discord? Discord?

“No, I don’t use Discord. You're coming back, though. Right?”

Taylor shook her head. “No. I’ll be graduating after this coming semester, and then after that, I’m moving straight to Germany. I’m doing an internship there.”

Aubree's knees almost gave out. A numbness spread throughout her body. “How long will that take?”

Taylor shrugged. “Don’t know. You never really know with puppetry. A couple years? A whole decade? It’s up in the air. But that’s okay; I like the uncertainty.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, bye, then.” Aubree started to walk away.

“Oh wait!” Taylor’s mom gasped. “I forgot, we drove you here.”

“That’s okay. I’m gonna walk.”

“But it’ll take a whole hour to get back to the library.”

“That’s fine,” Aubree said. “It’s a nice night. I’m gonna go now. See ya.”

She kept going without turning back.

There wasn’t a star in the sky. A hot wind blew dead leaves across the street. Aubree passed a rusty tricycle buried in some overgrown weeds. Someone had drawn a swastika on the sidewalk.

Her body felt numb. And heavy. And something wanted to burst from her chest. She knew what it was, and yet couldn’t bear to see its face, or know its name. “Um… um…um…” She said over and over again.

She found herself on the one-lane street again. The wrecked car was gone. So were the police cars and ambulances. As if it had never happened.

Somehow Aubree found the library again. She got in her car and drove home.

Her mom was watching TV.

“Where were you?” she said, still staring at the screen.

“Nowhere.” Aubree’s face clenched. “I’m tired. Going to bed now.”

“Wait.” Her mom stumbled to her feet. Her eyes looked glazed— an empty wine glass lay on a nearby table. “I wanted to talk to you. You’ve been really distant lately. You haven’t gone back to college like you said you would years ago.”

Aubree inched towards the stairs. “I don’t want to talk. I need to go to bed.”

“You’re drifting away from me. We need to do something so we can rekindle what we lost.”

“I said I don’t want to talk.”

“Aubree, sit down. We need to talk. Now.”

Aubree grit her teeth. “I’ve got a better idea. I’ll go upstairs and scroll through YouTube for five fucking hours like some fucking loser, and you can drink yourself into another fucking coma. How’s that sound?”

Her mom’s eyes shimmered.

“I’m sorry,” Aubree said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She began creeping upstairs. “I didn’t mean to—” Her mom started crying.

Aubree went into her room and closed the door.

On her bed now. The room felt hot and clammy. Her chest was throbbing.

She rolled to her side, breathing heavily. “I don’t use Discord,” she said. “I don’t use Discord. I don’t use Discord. I don’t use Discord. I don’t use Discord. I don’t use Discord. I don’t—” Her eyes blurred. “I don’t… I don’t… I don’t… I don’t…”

She couldn’t breathe now. Her mouth hung agape. That unnameable feeling clawed up from her chest. And then…

A grating scream tore from her throat. Tears rushed down her face, and she sobbed into her pillow.