My Marionette: Dead Eyes

“Hello?” I stuttered. “Do you need help with that?” I practically smiled with relief, but stopped in a heartbeat. The male shoved the package to his left side, using his hip to hold it up. His blonde hair was a mess of cleanliness, babyish features to him were like an accent, but his eyes – his silver eyes, shattered it all. He was a puppet, a puppet that I dreaded meeting –the pit of my nightmares has come to swallow me.