Written by Michael Landolfi – (Mature Theme) –

This piece was written to mimic the style Mary Shelley used in writing “Frankenstein.”  You may recall the monster was quite articulate.

I pray thee Master, cast off these constraints that I may sit upright and satisfy your questions. These bonds pain my flesh such that I may scarcely consider your inquiry. The leather binding my chest greatly discourages my every breath. These unyielding iron manacles paralyze my wrists and hands. I implore thee, grant your creation but some relief and I shall discourse as you wish.

Oh Master, I beg thee put away that fiery torch. Do not scorch my tissues again. The blisters on my face weep more than my eyes. I shall concede to your demands if only you do not sear me again. I shall honestly respond to your interrogations and shall offer full disclosure of my deeds. Simply, I beseech thee; remove your flame from me.

Thank you Master.

Please allow a moment for my recollections to form. Yes. Thank you. You inquire of my memories from “before” and from “the now” my commencement recollections and subsequent measures.

From before, I have but a dim image, thick as graveyard fog, ethereal, a formless sensation that haunts my wretched core. The only remembrance of my former life is a glimpse of my shackled ankle and unshod foot dragged to mount a coarse wooden step and the platform where death awaits. I was shoved onto the bascule, bound to it and laid prone, then yanked forward by my hair. The lunette roughly clamped my neck; the fatal yoke inhibited breath and circulation. The crowd cheered. I recall a momentary vibration as the blade fell and, for an instant, the taste of blood. Then all is black. The guillotine has triumphed. I am no more.

And sir, the commencement of this life’s memories begins with an impression of immense gravity, a fizzing quiver and then an explosion of fire and light. Indescribable pain, agony beyond compare burned within my chest and skull. At some great distance your voice cried out with jubilation, but my vision did not capture your celebration. I lay paralyzed and blind for some time, yet aware of my beating heart.

I cannot offer how much time passed, but I awoke to find my limbs arrested by leather straps and your maiden sentry asleep. I can only imagine she was unaware of what lay beneath the shroud that concealed my form, for when I broke free and approached the slumbering child she awoke and screamed in terror. Her frightful cries did pain my ears and I begged her to cease. When she did not I covered her mouth, but my dexterity proved crude. My grasp was like a vice and I crushed her.

Oh, the anguish my heart felt for extinguishing such innocence. I flew into a rage and destroyed many of your instruments. I determined to discover you, my creator, and repay you for my suffering.

I found letters from your loved ones and your journals. The letters advised me to which land you surely had fled. Your diaries described how I came to be, your quest to visit reanimation on flesh.

I was formed from parts gathered over months. You began with the giant Ethiopian found hanged, his head and brains beaten to a useless pulp, his fingers absent. That body became mine. You attached the enormous, mighty hands of some prehistoric primate, a mountain gorilla perhaps, and affixed to the black corpse the cranium of an imbecile whose huge vault could accommodate a powerful mind. Finally, you discovered a fresh brain, mine and purloined it from the executioner’s basket moments after being cleaved from my shoulders.

And yes, learned sir, it was I who hounded you from Ingolstadt to Geneva, through Europe and to those Irish shores where your beloved benefactor was found murdered. It was I who have reined terror on your soul and have stolen the lives of your loved ones. This the repayment for your fiendishness and your reward for denying my request of a mate.

Your purpose is most evident, Master. Thine eyes burn with cruelty and murderous intent. The wooden stake you grasp shall destroy my heart and put an end to your wicked experiment. My oath is true, could I break free of these bonds, Herr Frankenstein, I would crush your neck and send you to Hell where I will surely visit with you again for all eternity.

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Asheville native Michael Landolfi survived Catholic school, the 70s and the Marine Corps. He lives an untamed life in Bent Creek, is on the trails daily and writes wild stories for those with short attention spans. His tales will tickle your funny bone, pinch your heart and twist your gut. Imagination run wild. Find out for yourself. His new book, 5-Minute Short Stories: A Bathroom Book, containing 35, 5 minute stories, is available on Amazon.