Frankenstein's Monster

I was a mere experiment but a success. Nothing of worth but unique. My creator did not want me, he wanted what came after I was made, recognition. Yet to him, I was only a disgust despite the fact he redefined my past selves.

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2. Rebirth

Darkness, no light can be found by my eyes, how do I know how to co-ordinate these words in my mind, how do I know anything. I felt... Cold? As if I was made of ice and shards of the Antarctic's being itself. I could not see anything but faint candles which flickered in the coldness, they did not light much around them, maybe the wood that the beams they were made of that held them from the floor. I felt in a way paralysed yet, I could feel my fingers begin to scratch at the table I lay upon. I could nothing. Nothing but pain. I screamed, my breath louder than the shriek of a child, you could imagine how loud my shouts are. Blood curdling, bone shattering, I could feel his heavy breathing in the room, as if a constant to my screams.

 

He almost threw himself from me, unaware of what he had created, I am not to be. I rose from the workbench but I fell. Slipped from the amalgamation of blood, I can feel it stain my bare, naked skin. It was warm almost affectionate, in a way. I dragged my body towards him, my nails congested up with the dried, stale deep red blood, it reminds me of rich wine. How do I know what wine is? Or blood for that matter? My vision began to generate, I could feel the world with my eyes. It was then I saw him, his hands cloaked in stain of blood, as if he was Lady Macbeth, hands never to be clean. How do I know how this character is? What is this?

 

The purple stain underneath his flooded eyes began to crystallize, shimmering almost burning with shine. What was this witchcraft? My vocal chords began to ache, but the pain did not cease, so nor did the ear-splitting shrieks. He was rigid as he stood, his shallow breathing still docile to my screams but yet were present. He stumbled to him, craving the knowledge of what this crystallizing effect was, it was beautiful. He reached my hands out to him, my fingertips finding his face. The screams stopped, the pain was there but it was comforted. He exhaled but did not take in oxygen, how do I know what this all was but not what I found fascinating.

 

Before I could feel upon what appeared to be ice under his eyes, he pushed me away, my back cracking against the workbench. His voice shivered, his hands shook, his lower lip trembled. He simply watched me, tilting his head slightly, but then it began again, the nauseating screams. The crystals went on again, this time to fall upon his cheeks, I reached again but he stepped too quickly. He had fled. My voice grew louder and painful but on I called, or at least it felt like a call. He abandoned me.   

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