Celebration

The other kids will pick on me if I name my puppet "Sadness." That's a gift. Clever little fingers craft handles and strings, and he's a marionette. I name him "Cliche," out of fear. He likes simple words, simple phrases. They cause him to stand and dance. He's having a party, many gifts, many of the other kids are there, many gift their absence. 

She names her puppet "Judgement." There's a beautiful show, simple, clever. He names his puppet "Criticism." We have a simple theme, a plot. They like to call their puppets "Refinement." Silly prancing and clacking little, wooden feet. All the best people watch, from empty chairs. 

Maybe it's beside the zoo, beside a pavilion, where vendors sell cotton candy and a friendly lady teaches sculpting clay, scooping tiny bits with curved knives, like eating soup from a bowl. He likes simple words. 

There is a table where he can see gifts piling up. You give one, you give one, you give one. Nobody comes empty handed. I call him "Cliche" out of worry. Her glance catches me holding him. I see the thoughts vomit out of flaming eye sockets. It's a party now!