The True Story of Frankenstein

Okay, let’s get something straight: I wasn’t “Frankenstein.” That was the doctor’s name. I didn’t even get a name! They called me “the monster” or “the creature.” So, before we even started, thanks for that, Doc. How hard would it have been to come up with a name? Carl? Steve? Fred? Heck, I would’ve even taken Franky. Anything would’ve been better than “creature.”

So there I was, just minding my own business, or rather, just existing for the first time, when this guy, Victor, brought me to life. I thought, “Cool! New body, new life, this could be fun.” Then, I looked in the mirror and realized, “What on Earth did this guy sew me together with? Spare parts from a Halloween store?” Seriously, I had stitches in places I didn’t even know could be stitched.

Victor? He took one look at me and ran for the hills. Great. The guy built a sentient life form and then abandoned it like a bad DIY project. “Oh no, he’s hideous!” Uh, Doc, maybe you should’ve spent less time in the lab and more time studying the basics of facial symmetry. Also, a little moisturizer wouldn’t have killed you.

So now I was on my own. I tried to go out into the world and maybe make a few friends, but guess what? People weren’t exactly rolling out the welcome mat. I walked into a village, and before I could say, “Hi, I’m new in town,” they were all grabbing pitchforks and torches. What was this, a medieval mob convention? Relax, people. Just because I was tall, greenish, and had bolts in my neck didn’t mean I was dangerous. Honestly, the bolts were just a fashion statement at that point.

I tried to lie low for a while, hiding in the woods and living off berries. (Spoiler: berries were not a good diet for a guy my size.) I ended up stumbling upon this nice blind man’s cabin, and for the first time, someone wasn’t screaming at me like I was Britain’s ugliest dog. This guy chatted with me like a normal person, because, y’know, he couldn’t see me. We bonded over deep conversations about life and philosophy. I thought, “Finally, someone who gets me!” But then his family showed up, saw my lovely stitched-up face, and, surprise, surprise, they chased me away with more pitchforks.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

At this point, I thought, “Alright, maybe I’ll go talk to Doc.” Maybe I just needed a heart-to-heart with my ‘deadbeat dad.’ I tracked him down, but instead of apologizing for turning me into the world’s least popular science experiment, he was like, “Oh, you again.” Really? That was how he greeted his creation? I could’ve been a world-class brain surgeon, but no, I was stuck with Doc’s abandonment issues.

I asked him for a simple favor: “Can you make me a friend? Maybe someone who won’t run away screaming when they see me?” But Doc, being the drama queen that he was, flipped out. “No! I can’t make another monster!” Uh, excuse me, buddy, first of all, rude. Secondly, how about some consideration for my social life? I couldn’t keep going to parties and getting ghosted just because I was literally sewn together.

And then, of course, things went downhill. Doc made a mess of everything, like he always did, and I got blamed for the whole shebang. The villagers? Still after me with their torches. Doc? Running around like a madman. I tried to reason with him, “Dude, you started this. Just give me a break.” But no, we had to chase each other to the ends of the Earth. Fun times.

In the end, everyone was still calling me the “monster,” and Victor? He was remembered as some tragic hero who accidentally created life. Sure, he accidentally created life and then purposely avoided all his responsibilities. So there I was, alone in the freezing Arctic, waiting for a real friend, or at least someone with a sense of decency who wouldn’t mind my stitches.

Moral of the story? Don’t play God unless you’re willing to give your creation a proper name and maybe a few therapy sessions. And seriously, could someone please invent a pitchfork-free village? Asking for a friend.

The end.