Prose, Grades 10 – 12: First Place
Monster Journal — Michal Runge
Once…twice… and finally after a third attempt I was able to force my eyes into submission. They burned as they opened up to see one person standing above me. His fearful expression was the first thing I remember. My brain-although now I know it is not mine- could not recall any details as to how I came to be on this table. But all I could see was that face, that solitary being who was afraid of me was all I could see. I tried to speak, tried to force my new-old vocal chords to come up with some words to match my fear. . . words to express my questions as to why I was here and how I had come to this man. Then I saw what the man was and what he was holding. The pieces of the puzzle finally started to click together slowly. The man was holding surgical tools–tools used to put decaying and dying flesh back together. This man was my monster as much as I was his. It scared me that this man, this mere mortal of flesh and blood, had done something so inhumane as to create a creature such as me. I tried to remove myself from this wretched predicament I had found myself in. Before I could leave, the man fled from the catastrophe that is me. And in my blind rage I stumbled towards the door in a desperate attempt to do…anything human.
(Note: I am imagining how Frankenstein’s creature felt when he awoke in the lab. )