I started with Katie, a doll I got on eBay on my 10th birthday. I

Host: The backstage air shimmered with the scent of velvet curtains, dust, and the faint hum of an audience waiting beyond the lights. The stage itself — dark, vast, expectant — stood like a sleeping animal, breathing softly beneath the glow of a single spotlight.

In the shadows, Jack sat on a wooden crate, his hands clasped, his gray eyes watching the curtain sway like a heartbeat. Across from him, Jeeny was crouched beside an old ventriloquist’s dummy, its painted smile frozen somewhere between innocence and unease.

The Host’s voice emerged, low and cinematic, like the whisper of memory turning into story.

Host: Every artist begins with imitation — every soul, with pretend. Somewhere between toy and truth, the mask grows a pulse.

Jeeny: softly, adjusting the puppet’s tie “Darci Lynne Farmer once said, ‘I started with Katie, a doll I got on eBay on my 10th birthday. I don’t use her anymore. I’ve got a new Katie now, a real ventriloquist’s puppet.’”

Jack: smirks faintly “So that’s the dream, huh? Outgrow the toy, find the real thing?”

Jeeny: looks up at him, smiling slightly “Maybe. Or maybe the dream is learning to tell the difference.”

Jack: leans back, arms crossed “Funny how we call it progress — trading one version of control for another. The doll just gets more lifelike. The illusion, more convincing.”

Jeeny: “That’s what art is, Jack — the illusion we willingly believe. The beauty’s in the deception.”

Jack: raises an eyebrow “And what if the artist starts believing it too?”

Jeeny: pauses, studying the puppet’s painted eyes “Then the puppet starts moving on its own.”

Host: The lights flickered, a single bulb humming above them. The puppet’s shadow stretched across the floor — small, yet disturbingly human. The silence that followed was fragile, like glass balancing on the edge of a heartbeat.

Jack: “You know, that kid — Darci — she made millions talk through a doll. But who’s really speaking, Jeeny? The girl, or the puppet?”

Jeeny: softly “Both. The voice and the vessel need each other. The soul can’t echo without a shell.”

Jack: snorts “Sounds like theology for wooden mouths.”

Jeeny: grinning “Maybe theology’s just another kind of ventriloquism.”

Jack: looks at her, intrigued “Explain.”

Jeeny: “We all project voices into things that can’t talk — gods, art, even love. We fill the silence with something that sounds like us but isn’t.”

Jack: “And call it meaning.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: A faint creak from the stage echoed like an answer. The dummy’s head tilted slightly, as if straining to hear its creators debate the nature of its own existence.

Jack: half to himself “When I was a kid, I had this robot. Cheap plastic thing. I thought it understood me. I’d talk to it for hours. Then one day, the batteries died. I replaced them — and it didn’t sound the same. I stopped talking to it.”

Jeeny: softly “So you stopped talking to yourself.”

Jack: after a long pause “Maybe.”

Jeeny: “That’s what Katie was to her — a reflection. A safe mirror. The kind of friend who doesn’t judge, just listens. The moment she got the ‘real’ puppet, she didn’t outgrow the dream. She gave it structure.”

Jack: smirking faintly “Structure. That’s a poetic word for control.”

Jeeny: meeting his gaze “Maybe control is just the way we teach chaos to speak.”

Host: The curtain shifted again. Beyond it, muffled laughter rippled through the crowd — a reminder of the life waiting outside their philosophical cocoon.

Jack glanced at the puppet — its eyes glossy under the light, its mouth carved in a permanent half-smile. For a moment, it almost looked alive.

Jack: quietly “You ever think we’re all ventriloquists, Jeeny? We all find something to speak through — careers, beliefs, personas. The trick isn’t talking. It’s not forgetting whose voice it is.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “And sometimes, it’s not forgetting to listen to the puppet, too.”

Jack: smiles faintly “You think the puppet has wisdom now?”

Jeeny: softly, eyes thoughtful “I think everything we create eventually starts teaching us back.”

Host: The sound of applause swelled faintly through the walls — not for them, but for someone else on the stage. Still, it filled the air with warmth, like a heartbeat in a shared body.

Jeeny stood, holding the puppet carefully in her hands, its small body weightless but somehow immense.

Jeeny: “You know what I love about that quote? It’s not just about a doll. It’s about growing up — learning when to let go of the playthings, but never the play.”

Jack: nodding slowly “We all trade our eBay Katies for something newer, don’t we?”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Until one day we realize the first one was never fake. It was the beginning of faith.”

Jack: leans forward, intrigued “Faith in what?”

Jeeny: quietly “In our own voice.”

Host: The light softened. The puppet’s face caught the last glow, its painted smile trembling with shadow. Jack watched as Jeeny placed it gently on the crate — a symbolic gesture, like setting down a memory.

Jack: after a long silence “So, she didn’t stop using Katie. She just… evolved her.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s all we ever do — evolve our mediums. Words, art, puppets, people. Every version of ourselves is just a different Katie, waiting for the next hand to bring it to life.”

Jack: smiles faintly “Then maybe growing up isn’t about replacing. It’s about refining the illusion until it starts telling the truth.”

Jeeny: grinning softly “Now you sound like an artist.”

Jack: quietly “Maybe I’m just learning to listen to my puppet.”

Host: The stage lights flickered on suddenly, washing the room in gold. Somewhere beyond the curtain, a voice called, “You’re up!”

Jack and Jeeny exchanged a look — that mixture of nerves and knowing, of fear laced with love.

Then, as if rehearsed for a thousand lives, they smiled.

Host: And as they stepped toward the light, Darci Lynne’s words lingered in the air — not about a doll, but about becoming:

We all begin by borrowing voices,
until one day, the echo becomes our own.

The child who talked through a toy
was not pretending — she was practicing.

Every creation is a conversation with courage.
We give life to the silent,
and in return, they remind us how to speak.

Host: The curtain rose. The spotlight bloomed.

And beneath its warmth, two souls and one puppet —
toy, tool, and truth —
learned again what it means to bring something to life.