He draws them strings and watches the movement, tweaky left tweaky right, lilt and bend.
The puppet moves across the stage clumsy like a baby deer taking his first steps and has his face frozen in a freaky, quirky smile that no one understands. Puppeteer Puppeteer, make my smile go away he thinks.
But who knew the puppet had thoughts that could be heard, who knew that the puppet was tired of his smile? Who knew, but the puppet himself, that he was alive?