I stood there and watched as an old man struggle to walk under the hot sun. He was carrying a heavy basket on his head and he looked he might fall down any minute. He looked tired and hungry. And as I watched, he stumbled and went down heavily. The clay dolls he was carrying shattered into a million pieces. Blood oozed from his head as he lay there and twitched. He needed help. If only I could go there and give him some water from the bottle that I was carrying, his life could have been prolonged enough until help arrived. But I stood there motionless. After a few minutes of moaning and twitching, his life passed away. I continued my walk.
Now please don’t judge me. You don’t know who I am. What if I am already dead? What if that it was me, the Divine Death (oh yes, death is divine) who came in the form of a pickpocket who robbed that old man’s breakfast money, that very morning, to make him tired and hungry so that I could dispose off his fragile shell easily later in the day?
Or what if I am God?
But no, I am none of the above. I am just a puppet. Just like you. And I was only being myself. Is that wrong? Aren’t we all puppets?