RAVONSKI

Everyone wasn’t always dead. In fact, at one point up to 50% of the world’s population was almost alive. One month before that point, everyone that should have been alive was alive. And a day after that a puppet went missing from a toy shop in Cardiff.

Nobody knew where it had gone. That was because the owner of the shop, a burly woman called Janet, was the only person that had noticed it was missing. And even she wasn’t that bothered.

As Janet shrugged and went to make another cup of weak tea, the puppet was already in space. Far-fetched I know, but the puppet was in space. It was perhaps not the first puppet in space, but it was in space nonetheless. More specifically, it was in a spaceship (for want of a better word), surrounded by big glowing buttons (for want of a better description), and tied down to a table (actually, that’s fairly accurate).

There was no need for it to be tied down as it was a puppet. A puppet made of Earth wood and Earth string and painted with Earth paint. It posed no threat (unless you tripped over it) and it definitely could not talk. Well, that is, until it did. 

“HELPTH!” 

The puppet screamed in the raspy wheeze of a toy that had never spoken but now sensed that its recently-instated sentience was in danger of being prematurely extinguished. 

“HELPTH!” 

It wriggled around pathetically a little before going limp when it realised that no one, not even Janet, was coming to save it. Then a voice happened. 

“You were wood,” it boomed. 

The puppet looked nervous (if a block of wood with a painted-on mouth could look nervous).

“Now you are not wood,” it added, somewhat prosaically. 

The puppet looked confused (again, its wooden block of a head remained unchanged but you could just tell it was confused). 

“But I am woodth,” the puppet spluttered, “Look!”

It motioned towards its wooden arm with the painted-on watch that said it was quarter past four when it wasn’t. A long, loud sigh emanated from the ship and the voice spoke. 

“Then I have made a mistake.” 

The puppet was about to agree but the voice returned, interrupting it.

“You are free.”

The puppet’s shackles fell from the table as if by magic (but it was merely alien technology), and the voice continued, slowly and thoughtfully.

“You see, I am from a distant land and my mission is to-“

But before it could finish its speech the puppet had flopped off the table, flailed across the room, pressed all the buttons on the console, and destroyed the Earth in a mind-shattering explosion of men, women, mud, bricks, sea, and sheep.

The puppet, now a destroyer of worlds, turned around.

“My name’s Bobbin,” it blurted cheerfully.

But its cheeriness was short-lived as within miliseconds it had been vaporised into a tiny pile of ash and googly plastic eyes by a laser to the face.

The spaceship, in no mind to stick around and take responsibility, sped away at three times the speed of light, leaving only me, your omnipotent narrator, to rue not taking the chance to intervene.

Sorry Earth. My bad.