November 6, 1789 The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of the human nature. For a stretch of two years I had worked day and night, simply for the dream of seeing light flow into the eyes of the inanimate creature sewn together by my sleepless nights. It is a dreary night of November that I, at last, behold my end result. I had possessed no ounce of doubt that my creation would be perfect and successful, and the body parts I had so carefully hemmed together were seen as beautiful. Yet just now, as I gazed upon this creature, when the rain dropped with a sense of foreboding on the window, my creature open its muddy yellow eye. It moved its limbs and breathed, too, if I recall correctly, but my mind was captivated on that one eye, gleaming maliciously, disgusting and malformed, blinking at me. Beautiful? Had I gone insane? Before, I had only seen the muscles, taut under the translucent skin, the thin black hair that flowed like a sea of shining black, and his teeth, glittering white like gems in his mouth. But the eye--the eye was dull, watery, and blinking--blinking. The dirty shade of mud was staring--staring into my eyes, and unable to bear that eye--oh, the eye--I fled to my bed chamber, in which I am hiding from the monster currently. I dreamed of dear Elizabeth, whom I was delighted to see, but her image was distorted, and the eye flashed before me while I saw my mothers dead body. I awoke in horror, and my breathing still has not slowed down, and, oh dear Lord, I hear footsteps, clumsy, boisterous footsteps, and a grotesque had reaches for my beds curtains and the eye blinks at me again, and his thin, black mouth, oh dear, grins the most disturbing--but oh, the eye--the eye--the eye!
Posted on: Thu, 21 Nov 2013 03:43:32 +0000
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