Puppet Master: The beginning

It’s an early autumn morning, and before the sun begins to rise and the fog begins to lift from the sleepy city, they wake, bright eyed and bushy tailed. They who walk amongst us, sit next to us in lecture halls, or the subway, or are the person in the crowd you thought is cute. They make us who we are. Everything that we are. They, who call themselves The Hand of God, but what they really are are puppeteers and we, their puppets. They have our lives in their hands and it’s serious business. Who wakes up 10 minutes late and misses that train to work. Who will accidentally walk in on their partners and the other woman, or man. They decide whether you walk by and notice the food stand and go in for that pie you always wished you’d tried, only to get food poisoning and end up in the hospital, missing your girlfriend’s birthday, and inevitably breaking up. They decide where complications happens, and with it, how and when we die. 
They hold our lives in their hands. And they can make it or break it. It’s that simple. And how do I know this? 
My name is Zane, and I will tell you all about it, but first, let’s tell you the story from the very beginning, from the moment I walked out of my house that morning 5 years ago thinking I was headed to my first day of work as a resident in St Patrick’s hospital. The day I thought my life was about to begin. How naive I must have been. 
It was the day everything ended instead. One mistake. One tiny mistake, and I was no longer a puppet. 

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