Username: Monday Delirium
Title: The Letter
I write you this letter, so to tell you of my existence by a few words of my own. I hesitate to call it a life albeit I have learned how to live.
It started as a feast of misery, eating what I could find and stealing parts from fresh bodies removed from their graves during the quiet of night since for a long time after I woke in that lab for the first time, many pieces of me rotted away
If only I could show you what you made, what appalling and disgusting crawl through this world I forced myself to perform like a sick actor on a stage set on fire by the audience.
People are disgusted at the sight of me. Not as many now a days for the years led the world through a strange course. Since you made me and I first awoke a man of ambition has raised the dead in a grand scale. Some of his victims are now living some what normal lives and people have since then increasingly grown accustomed to the grotesque for other monster followed, horde after horde nearly overrunning the race of man.
Some will still avoid me as if I am a leper but most will barely give me a second look. I had to beg. For food, money, shelter, clothes and once, just once even for company.
In my despair I have even attempted to create another like me but fortunate to that poor would be creature you took your secrets and your art with you into the grave.
The thing never woke up, unlike me and so never had it to learn what it means to exist in this world.
I used to be scared of the cold and the dark, afraid to grow insane and unable to handle this mangled body and a life of pain but I learned to kill most of such feelings.
I no longer hurt and I no longer care. The world now fits me, I progressed through rank and file, small jobs and now I am self employed.
Some even look up to me in admiration and on Durem, running my own business and leading a life of success I can bear the few looks of disgust I still get from lesser beings.
You assembled the pieces but at long last I have made myself. I am a creature done unto my own image and no longer have strings at which the ghost of your memory can pull.
This letter which I cannot deliver and you will never read, this is my farewell to the regret and horror you left me has your legacy. The years of darkness, running scared and alone hiding out in the woods or in old abandoned buildings.
I will burn it once I am done. Seal it and set it aflame as you would have me had you the presence of spirit and the courage to finish what you started.
Unlike you I leave no work unfinished. Unlike you I thrived to perfect any work I set myself to do.
I make the dreams of others real, perhaps in a way because a small part of me wishes to honor you. The you who created me for the sake of creating something more than yourself. Something special.
Sewing clothes and writing reports, filing documents and some other tasks that you would probably believe beneath you. Perhaps you would laugh at me or perhaps you would be proud that your monster grew to become "a real boy" as some would say.
I never truly met you. Would you be proud that I no longer rob graves to rebuild myself because I made friends and acquaintances able, willing and happy to assist me in preserving me and keeping me functional and dare I say occasionally happy?
That better than you have made me better, perfecting your mediocre design?
Would you hate me for burning all your notes soon after I knew for certain you were gone and that despite the madman Gambino and his lab cronies insistent requests, I never accepted their offers and never made deals with people of ill intent?
Some wanted your secret, to learn how you made me perhaps so they could make more or simply to perfect the art and keep themselves alive by unnatural means.
Some tries to capture me and perhaps even destroy me, using force to obtain such prize and those evaded again and again.
I stopped hiding when I seemed no longer relevant, when the world became so full of demons and angels, aliens and underground creatures, humans and machines the living and the undead that i was just another in a crowd for most part.
Yet such people still came to me, now with offers of wealth and those I also turned from. I can only wonder what you would have done.
To exist is not easy. To be happy is dangerous, yet I dare say as numb as I am to most things I can't help but sometime smile even if i do a good job at hiding it.
I believe I am at last at peace with myself and so I hope you too found peace.
Assuming you could ever find such thing in Hell, which I now a days know to be a real place.
Your Son whom you never loved or perhaps loved too much.