|(I am writing as
I stood mesmerized waiting for my creation to rise from the dead. It would quake the great walls of science I said. It would be a huge step for mankind I proclaimed. I waited anxiously for lightning to strike. Suddenly with a big blast, a majestic wave of electricity formed and entered my beautiful creations body and….... My dream was a reality. It moved, and I screamed with joy. An expression of excitement was engraved on my face; I could not bear it anymore. I felt like God when he created us humans. Heck, I am God to my creature. I had to see what his face looked like. As I turned to face my child composed with the best of dead corpses, my heart was beating with passion and love. I have been waiting six entire years for this. I uncovered his face. Oh lord what have I produced, deep down in my heart I could hear satin laughing with delight. Chaos is what this would lead to. I used to wake up at four in the mourning tumbling and yawning to work on creating a better living being for the world. I am not going to be convicted because of creating a hideous monster, nor would I be gracefully praised. The rest of my life should be undergone in solidarity. Just like my previous six years. History has been written upon me. I am the creator of evil, the devil. Only God above knows what will become of me. This world is harsh and cruel. People are mean and vindictive. My creation is bloodcurdling, and disaster is written all over its name. I pray for forgiveness and deserve redemption for my good intentions. I call it the monster.
My creation is evil. Not only is my monster ugly, he is also a murderer. My brother has been killed as a result of him. I am fuming with rage, why create him, why cast this binding spell on my future. I will have to create a companion for it, I will have to give life to another thing deserving to remain in its tomb. Will God forgive me if I make yet another monster? I am being caring for this creature. I am redeeming him in a desperate attempt to live a clover life. I am trying with an effort to bypass my brother’s death and carry on living in isolation. I have been told failure is a reason to thrive, but wonder whether I can come close to accomplish this saying. Dread is my creation. It let me deep down in its heart and soul, I rejected it harshly just because of its really ugly face. I have no motive to live my life anymore. I want to make things right. I am confused and wish this be hypothetical, imaginary, a dream to be forgotten. I will have to persevere and conquer the villain. My worst enemy is own mind! The promise I kept to myself was broken. People know about my creation. I have a feeling I will see crimson blood as a reason of this monster. First my brother, who next Elizabeth? What is life to me other than pain and suffering? Well, I figure everyone in this universe will have to carry their cross; satin consists of my horribly tiresome one.
You can send some of your work, information and comments to this email, email@example.com