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Frankenstein’s Bride

Frankenstein died, so did his hideous creature that he created subject to his godly lust. It continued to remain a mystery how the laboratory caught fire for centuries to come, and gave amiable food for thought to probing brains and intellectual discussions. Nobody knew, what happened actually that night, except for one person…Frankenstein’s Bride!


That is me!


I hated that ominous creature, whose wish brought me to life, since the day I was made. Death had become a contented nest for me as I had come to terms with the peaceful sleep, away from the suburbs of life, waiting for The Day. Yet it was because of his hideous yearning that crooked it into a ghastly womb. I loathed the creature from the day I set eyes upon it. I saw the flicker of longing and want in those beady eyes, defeating the swamp of the most deadly marshes, and I couldn’t hate him more. Frankenstein was no exception. He never fathomed the plight of the-likes-of-us and continued to bask in the glory of creating yet another wretched creature, which was to be marred by its own element for the life to come.


But, life is strange and stranger is the fact that glimpses in the past revoke them in reminiscence, time and again. Adam’s desire brought Eve, and then ….


From the day, I stepped down the steps of my birth coven; I had it resolved in my heart to set the score with the alliance that gave birth to me, robbing me off my nest. There should be no place for unstoppable naiveté’. For a minuscule second, I pitied the monster, but then I wondered at the selfishness that made him request my being, yet knowing the plight of his own. Had he been earnest, he would never have set a demand for the likes of his to be created again. They had to pay, this I decided.


I set fire to the laboratory and the coven that had given birth to two unfathomable creatures, one was to die; the other to survive. It was past midnight, when the fire thickened and engulfed the laboratory in its flames while the creator and one of his creations swarmed inside. Strange are the ways of this world. A maker burned inside, reducing to ashes whilst its construction stood by. I smelt the burning flesh and I heard the despondent cries, yet I stood; to watch, to listen.


When my deed was done, I left for the city.