Frankenstein's Monster
One Shot
Taken from the journal of ‘Frankenstein’s Monster’
November 1818
It was the smell that first struck my senses. The awful stench of rotting flesh mangled with salty sweat; it seemed to entirely encapsulate my being. That was, until I heard the laboured, breaths coming from an unknown entity to my right, so close that the warmth of each pant lightly touched my face. My own breathing pattern soon matched theirs as shooting pains darted up and down my limbs; the numbness was subsiding so I could now feel the cool hardwood floorboards beneath my body.
Then, almost of their own volition, my eyelids shot open and a slight crack could be heard as the dry skin around my eyes parted. The place, wherever it was, was swaddled in darkness that was virtually impenetrable. I managed to make out a figure hovering above me, its broad shoulders and solid build told me it was a man. He suddenly let out a gasp as my eyes fixed on his; the flame of the candle next to him danced in his eyes, highlighting
the terror held within them.
He sat, agape, for a few more moments until a sudden crash of thunder set the room alight. In that moment he recoiled in horror, covering his open-mouth with a trembling hand as he backed away from me. All I could do was listen as he charged from the room, his footsteps echoing the thunderous storm outside, and slammed the door behind him, the rusted hinges clattering with the impact.
Once alone in the shadows, I struggled to move my body for several minutes, it was almost as though the darkness had engulfed me in her grasp, pinning me forever to the wooden ground. After many vigorous jerks and twists of my body, I finally managed to heave myself up into a sitting position. The pain was immense. My inexperienced muscles and bones, cracking and straining with the effort of movement. I persevered until I was on my feet, the pain now a dull ache pounding with every slight step I took.
My view of the space was no more detailed than it had been from my position on the floor. However, turning my head a few inches to the side allowed me to see the silhouettes of other objects in the room. A desk, littered with countless stacks of books and papers, many of which were spilling onto the floor, was positioned to the left of me. At my feet were many items that looked vaguely like medical instruments, most of them strewn across the floor in
the man’s haste to escape.
Then I saw the door. The door that the mysterious man, presumably my creator, had ran out of with such speed. Why did my birth constitute such a violent reaction? Was I really so frightening that the human eye could not stand to look at me? I decided these questions could be answered by him, behind that door. I shuffled forward; unable to lift my feet more than a scant inch above the ground, because the throbbing was almost too much to bear.
The door opened to a simple bedroom, which was also as unorganised as the workshop, only book and instruments were replaced by clothes. He was sprawled across the bed, still fully dressed, his face shaped into a tight grimace. When I moved closer, he started awake, seemingly from a nightmare. He must have sensed my presence because his gaze immediately fell upon me, I opened my mouth to sound out my questions, but all that I could muster was an unintelligible mumbling. I reached out to him so as to soothe him, but that same striking terror swam in his eyes and he didn’t hesitate in fleeing the room with incredible swiftness.
Leaving me once again alone in the shadows.
November 1818
It was the smell that first struck my senses. The awful stench of rotting flesh mangled with salty sweat; it seemed to entirely encapsulate my being. That was, until I heard the laboured, breaths coming from an unknown entity to my right, so close that the warmth of each pant lightly touched my face. My own breathing pattern soon matched theirs as shooting pains darted up and down my limbs; the numbness was subsiding so I could now feel the cool hardwood floorboards beneath my body.
Then, almost of their own volition, my eyelids shot open and a slight crack could be heard as the dry skin around my eyes parted. The place, wherever it was, was swaddled in darkness that was virtually impenetrable. I managed to make out a figure hovering above me, its broad shoulders and solid build told me it was a man. He suddenly let out a gasp as my eyes fixed on his; the flame of the candle next to him danced in his eyes, highlighting
the terror held within them.
He sat, agape, for a few more moments until a sudden crash of thunder set the room alight. In that moment he recoiled in horror, covering his open-mouth with a trembling hand as he backed away from me. All I could do was listen as he charged from the room, his footsteps echoing the thunderous storm outside, and slammed the door behind him, the rusted hinges clattering with the impact.
Once alone in the shadows, I struggled to move my body for several minutes, it was almost as though the darkness had engulfed me in her grasp, pinning me forever to the wooden ground. After many vigorous jerks and twists of my body, I finally managed to heave myself up into a sitting position. The pain was immense. My inexperienced muscles and bones, cracking and straining with the effort of movement. I persevered until I was on my feet, the pain now a dull ache pounding with every slight step I took.
My view of the space was no more detailed than it had been from my position on the floor. However, turning my head a few inches to the side allowed me to see the silhouettes of other objects in the room. A desk, littered with countless stacks of books and papers, many of which were spilling onto the floor, was positioned to the left of me. At my feet were many items that looked vaguely like medical instruments, most of them strewn across the floor in
the man’s haste to escape.
Then I saw the door. The door that the mysterious man, presumably my creator, had ran out of with such speed. Why did my birth constitute such a violent reaction? Was I really so frightening that the human eye could not stand to look at me? I decided these questions could be answered by him, behind that door. I shuffled forward; unable to lift my feet more than a scant inch above the ground, because the throbbing was almost too much to bear.
The door opened to a simple bedroom, which was also as unorganised as the workshop, only book and instruments were replaced by clothes. He was sprawled across the bed, still fully dressed, his face shaped into a tight grimace. When I moved closer, he started awake, seemingly from a nightmare. He must have sensed my presence because his gaze immediately fell upon me, I opened my mouth to sound out my questions, but all that I could muster was an unintelligible mumbling. I reached out to him so as to soothe him, but that same striking terror swam in his eyes and he didn’t hesitate in fleeing the room with incredible swiftness.
Leaving me once again alone in the shadows.