Frankenstein

        When I first opened my dull eyes, my master was beside me.  I was overjoyed to be alive, but to my deep sorrow, he shouted, “But… you are… hideous!”
Random people referred to me as a monster, a fiend, an ogre.  I simply wasn’t accepted in this judgmental, prejudiced world.  I had hoped to befriend Victor’s little brother, William, but even one as young as he rejected me, mocking me.
Society, humans… everything hated me.  When I pleaded my master for a wife, a good companion who would love me, I promised to leave the human world behind forever.
But my promise was dashed to pieces, just like my to-be companion.
She was torn apart in front of my eyes.  Emotions flooded me.  They called me to action… revenge.  First Henry Clerval, Victor’s closest friend; then Elizabeth, his young wife.  I strangled them both.
And although regret claws at my heart each day, responsibility for their deaths is not fully mine.  Even on his deathbed, Victor abhorred me, vowing to murder me.  If he had nurtured me, loved me or cared for my needs, my anger wouldn’t have driven me to murder.  In fact, if he had never created me, none of this insanity would have been an issue.