Pepe was a simple puppet. He spoke no English. Then again, he couldn't speak at all. The teacher controlled him making him speak the simplest of Spanish terms. People threw him around and left him in a box with, and to collect, dust until people desired to see him again.
He hated it. He wanted to speak for himself. He wanted to get up and move. He wanted to be alive. But knowing that would never happen, Pepe carried depressed thoughts which went against the artificial smile he held on his face.
Soon his hatred grew so great, he despised anyone he only saw, whether they acknowledged him or not, he wanted to hurt. The only reason Pepe wouldn't, would be if they treated him how he wanted to be treated. Somedays Pepe was in such a bad mood and wanted to kill anyone he came in contact with.
One day, or night I should say, Pepe was sitting in his "lonely box" as he thought of it; the only things that bothered to join him were little bits of dust. A whooshing sound rumbled through his ears. Every part of him started tingling. He wiggled his fingers! He opened his mouth! He was able to sit up!
At first, Pepe mumbled nonsense. He stumbled over his feet. So everyday, he would peek out of his box and take a look at how people walked and talked. It was now hard for him to lay limp on the days he was used since he could now control his movements.
A few days later, when he was alone, Pepe got out of his box. He took steps and spoke words! The rush of being alive and controlling his own self was exhilirating!
Soon through his moments of happiness, he remembered his hatred and neglect and how he could do something about it now. He was still smiling then remembered that he didn't have to smile. He could frown, and so he did. Now it only looked like Pepe was sad which fueled his fire further. Because he was this angry, his eyes naturally filled with hate which was all he needed to look flustered.
Pepe was about to storm out of the room when he realized he needed something to hurt with. A sharp pencil he saw on the floor would do. He ran but stumbled many times in attempt to get the pencil. So he only walked.
Pepe was ready; he knew it. But now, only one obstacle was in his way. La puerta.