Everybody Wants Me
Re-Write
Henry Clerval strolled down the Scottish coastline at a leisurely pace, enjoying the feeling of the cool yet inviting sand squelching between his toes. The tide was just coming in; occasionally lapping against his feet but then quickly retreating into the murky abyss that the sea had become under the dark night sky.
He had parted from his good friend Victor some time ago; thoughts of him had plagued his mind each and every day. Their travels had taken them far and wide, across the peaks of Switzerland and the aged streets of Britain. Clerval cherished every tree; every building that the pair had laid eyes on – but alas it was still not enough to instil joy in Victor’s heart. Clerval had listened with a sympathetic ear when Victor had told him of his wish to depart from their journey, wishing to make the tour of Scotland alone; claiming a need for solitude and hoping to return with a much more contented disposition. However, a nagging doubt told him that he should not be apart from his companion. Although he had the company of many other travellers throughout his journey, Clerval could not help but be preoccupied by his terrific concern for Victor’s welfare.
After they had parted – and when the worry had all but consumed his being – Clerval did the only thing he knew how. He wrote a letter. And into that letter he poured his heart and soul, entreating Victor to return with proclamations of his loneliness and his need for a familiar; fellow traveller. Whilst Scotland was a striking landscape, it was not enough to distract him from the constant drizzle of uncertainty pitter-pattering against the inside of his stomach and, in Clerval’s opinion, held little interest to him compared to the soaring cathedrals and intricately designed structures of London. Ever since his childhood Clerval had dreamed of exploring the many countries of the world; of diving head first into the rich culture of Europe. When the opportunity arose Clerval was elated and what’s more – he had a companion with which to experience everything.
A swash of cold seawater against his ankle abruptly dislodged him from his musings, and brought his attention back to his surroundings. The sky somehow seemed darker, the water more violent, the waves crashed against the shore with such force that they left indentations in the now saturated coastline. Although the strong Irish winds were whipping at his cheeks and roaring in his ears, Henry could hear deep, heavy breaths over the top of all the commotion. His own breathing suddenly became shallower; more frequent. Beads of sweat slipped between his fingers and trickled down his neck as he slowly built up the courage to face his attacker.
Before he could process any more thoughts he felt cold, iron fingers seize his neck and immediately squeeze until his airways were completely constricted. His body began to thrash wildly against the unknown entity controlling it, his breath coming in gasps and wheezes. His coherent mind shut down and animal instincts took over as he bit and scratched and kicked at whatever body part he could reach. His limbs continued to flail as if they were independent of his body and only ceased when his body was swung around by his neck, so that he was now facing his mysterious assassin.
His eyes fell upon a broad chest littered with scars that seemed to mix and mingle into one as his vision blurred, scratches of red against a muddy grey canvas. The fingers clamped around his throat gripped tighter, if that were physically possible, and Henry used all the strength he had left to shift his gaze upwards for a fleeting glance of his murderer’s face.
He was now staring up at a rough outline of a face that seemed to have been carved from stone, extremities jutting out at odd angles. His hands began to grapple with the monster’s once more, desperate to be free and rid of this hellish beast. His throat was squeezed again, causing his last breath to escape in a whisper and he was lifted off the ground so that his eyes were level with a pair of dull yellow ones. In those eyes Henry saw passion, anger, betrayal, and so many other emotions that he could not comprehend swimming in those shallow pools.
His mouth gaped open, partly to strive for air – partly in horror. His body was now limp in the monster’s hands; his vision was fading, those yellow eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. Just as he was slowly slipping away from reality, he heard a low, growling voice at his ear.
“Frankenstein.”
He had parted from his good friend Victor some time ago; thoughts of him had plagued his mind each and every day. Their travels had taken them far and wide, across the peaks of Switzerland and the aged streets of Britain. Clerval cherished every tree; every building that the pair had laid eyes on – but alas it was still not enough to instil joy in Victor’s heart. Clerval had listened with a sympathetic ear when Victor had told him of his wish to depart from their journey, wishing to make the tour of Scotland alone; claiming a need for solitude and hoping to return with a much more contented disposition. However, a nagging doubt told him that he should not be apart from his companion. Although he had the company of many other travellers throughout his journey, Clerval could not help but be preoccupied by his terrific concern for Victor’s welfare.
After they had parted – and when the worry had all but consumed his being – Clerval did the only thing he knew how. He wrote a letter. And into that letter he poured his heart and soul, entreating Victor to return with proclamations of his loneliness and his need for a familiar; fellow traveller. Whilst Scotland was a striking landscape, it was not enough to distract him from the constant drizzle of uncertainty pitter-pattering against the inside of his stomach and, in Clerval’s opinion, held little interest to him compared to the soaring cathedrals and intricately designed structures of London. Ever since his childhood Clerval had dreamed of exploring the many countries of the world; of diving head first into the rich culture of Europe. When the opportunity arose Clerval was elated and what’s more – he had a companion with which to experience everything.
A swash of cold seawater against his ankle abruptly dislodged him from his musings, and brought his attention back to his surroundings. The sky somehow seemed darker, the water more violent, the waves crashed against the shore with such force that they left indentations in the now saturated coastline. Although the strong Irish winds were whipping at his cheeks and roaring in his ears, Henry could hear deep, heavy breaths over the top of all the commotion. His own breathing suddenly became shallower; more frequent. Beads of sweat slipped between his fingers and trickled down his neck as he slowly built up the courage to face his attacker.
Before he could process any more thoughts he felt cold, iron fingers seize his neck and immediately squeeze until his airways were completely constricted. His body began to thrash wildly against the unknown entity controlling it, his breath coming in gasps and wheezes. His coherent mind shut down and animal instincts took over as he bit and scratched and kicked at whatever body part he could reach. His limbs continued to flail as if they were independent of his body and only ceased when his body was swung around by his neck, so that he was now facing his mysterious assassin.
His eyes fell upon a broad chest littered with scars that seemed to mix and mingle into one as his vision blurred, scratches of red against a muddy grey canvas. The fingers clamped around his throat gripped tighter, if that were physically possible, and Henry used all the strength he had left to shift his gaze upwards for a fleeting glance of his murderer’s face.
He was now staring up at a rough outline of a face that seemed to have been carved from stone, extremities jutting out at odd angles. His hands began to grapple with the monster’s once more, desperate to be free and rid of this hellish beast. His throat was squeezed again, causing his last breath to escape in a whisper and he was lifted off the ground so that his eyes were level with a pair of dull yellow ones. In those eyes Henry saw passion, anger, betrayal, and so many other emotions that he could not comprehend swimming in those shallow pools.
His mouth gaped open, partly to strive for air – partly in horror. His body was now limp in the monster’s hands; his vision was fading, those yellow eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. Just as he was slowly slipping away from reality, he heard a low, growling voice at his ear.
“Frankenstein.”
♠ ♠ ♠
So this is a re-write. I thought it would be more beneficial to the story to explore Clerval's character more rather than force a link between the two books.Thoughts?