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[toasozonis]

Good Guy

Yup, a story about Good Guy. I discovered some speculative lore about how, if he did have a role within the Matoran Universe, it might be as a puppet for Matoran puppetry. Cute, and a little bittersweet and existential for our goodest of guys.

[BZP link]

I'm a good guy, or so they say.

They bring me out on stage and I see the ones who look like me, but they're complete where I am not, and they point to me and still wish to become like me.

I'm missing my hands and I have no face, where they have all of those things and more. I've never known what it's like to throw a kanoka disk or play kohli, and I might never know those things, and yet they choose me to represent them — and all they could be, and all they might want to be.

********

I am a warrior in a shadow play of ancient history. I am their symbol of the way they fight against the shadows and their own darkness, and the darkness they believe might haunt the universe.

What am I to know of such things? My life has been spent in the closets and luggage of their stageshow productions, a nothing beyond nothing; although they use me to portray tales of the lands far away, I have never been to those lands and will never be to those lands.

Why am I the one they trust?

Why am I the one who portrays their good guy?

What if I'm the one they shouldn't believe in at all?

********

I have no flesh, so I cannot be corrupted. I cannot be real, I cannot feel.

I'm not like them. Where they have organic material in between the shifting mechanical parts, I am entirely mechanical, and yet entirely manual. I have gears, but no engines; wires, but no strings. I am all they could be, and all they might want to, but I cannot move and I cannot speak.

Would I if I could? What would I say?

If your life is a stageshow and your body not real, why bother to say anything at all, even if you knew your voice would work in order to say it?

********

They don't play their stageshows as much anymore. The city has been crumbling, or so they say, and the Vahki are gone and now all the world is their stage — a stage for their drama, a stage for their lives, their futures, their destinies, and what of their good guy?

I am in the closet of the stage where they left me, and I am silent, and I cannot move.

I have no strings, but I am their good guy.

I have no hands, and I cannot knock.

I'm a good guy, or so they say.

And now, with the ones who choose me gone, I have been left behind — I am alone — I am forgotten — and all the world's a stage, and the stage is crumbling, and I will never know their eyes upon my silent body again.