Frankenstein

1. The Stranger

The coffee tastes like the same stone dust that I've kept inhaling all day long when I work on my sculptures. Not that it does anything bad to me but it does give me a bad aftertaste.

Perks of not being totally human, I guess. There are more of it, perks I mean. Some are good and some are horrible like not aging or dying a natural death. For some people, it might be a blessing but not to me.

Coffee always tastes like crap right after I’ve taken a break from work but I do need the caffeine. I might be immortal and nearly invaluable but I still sleep and get tired which is so not an option right now as I have a deadline to beat.

“Having a bad day, honey?” the waitress refilling my cup asks kindly.

I think her name is Sally. She’s in her mid thirties and a mother of three. So when she had seen me for the first time, my deceptively young, slender and slightly scarred frame had made her activate the mama bear mode.

I had to lie very convincingly that I was in a bad car accident to acquire them. Father had made sure that I would not have too many scars but he could only do so much.

My arms have the worst ones and then there's the long and thin one on my right cheek but otherwise, I look perfectly normal. It's still a bit unsettling for some people though as I look as young as a boy of  nineteen or twenty. So they tend to ask for the stories behind them.

It's not really an option for anyone to confess the truth that your father had stitched multiple body parts together to create you so the scars are as natural as a finger or hair colour might be to others.

It’s even worse because I might have been able to at least joke a bit about it in a morbid sort of way but that damned maid’s story has become a popular urban legend.

There are even dramas, books and movies made based on her hysterical fantastical tales. Do you know how it feels to be represented such vilely throughout most interpretations of that tale? It’s horrible, especially the part about me killing my father. I tend to ignore those as much as I can.

I refocus on the waitress as she makes a questioning noise that I imagine mothers must make after being ignored. It's a nice thought, I guess to have a mother figure for a few moments.

I ponder on her question. Am I having a bad day…? It's more like a bad century, or three but I don’t say that. I just nod.

She makes sympathetic noise and pets my head a bit in a motherly way that makes me feel bad for not even knowing her name but I can’t help it.
Humans are fickle creatures after all. Here one minute, gone the next.

It's not really worth it to get to know someone I know I will outlive. Why torture myself by caring for a creature that will definitely leave me when the time comes for death to take them as event Immortals are unable to escape her cold embrace.

I shake the thought away and order a plate of double decker burger. It should alleviate her concerns about my skin and bones of a body, as she calls it.

I have a slim figure so she automatically tries to fatten me up like most mothers do, I assume. I can't exactly tell her that it's of no use. My body is stuck in the state I was created for eternity. I might heal rapidly if I'm injured and my scars might've faded over time but I do not… cannot change physically in any other way—at least not permanently.

Satisfied, she smiles at me and leaves to get my order.

The diner is quiet and small which is why I like it. It’s less crowded and I’m not too fond of people, especially those who judge my scars like they are shameful imperfections. They are my birthmarks so they can shove their judgemental opinions up their asses for all I care.

The motherly waitress sets my order down in front of me within minutes of ordering as the diner is nearly empty at this time with the exception of the two old men playing chess while slowly eating their food and of course, me.

I attack my food as my hunger gets the best of me. Immortality doesn't include not eating. I can go without food indefinitely but that doesn't mean I want to feel hunger pains if I do not have to.

As I’m finishing up, someone drops on the seat directly in front of me without ceremony. I look up to find a cute little twink with blonde hair and oddly enough, brown doe eyes looking back at me.

He looks as young as I do, so maybe he’s in his mid twenties and while I might not be overly muscular or big and don’t look like a twink either, he fits the description perfectly.

He also lacks the numerous scars that I have. His face is almost innocent looking and looks a bit cherubic with his high cheekbones and nearly feminine beauty.

His eyes though look much older than his physical age, completely at odds with his overall outlook. So does his rather oddly large grey fur coat.

I raise a brow in question but he just keeps looking at me, especially studying my scars with such an awed fascination, it makes the hair at the back of my neck rise in alarm.

I carefully angle my body towards the shop doors then finally ask, “Can I help you?” Barely biting the ‘young man’ back at the last moment. Damn, I’m old and even if I don’t look it, I do feel it.

The stranger does a slow blink with a slightly shocked expression like he didn’t expect me to be even able to speak or something. It makes me even warier but I patiently wait for him to respond.

After a long moment he finally seems to get over his… whatever it is that’s been happening. He looks around and then slowly pulls an ancient leather-bound book out of his coat, revealing the bright purple Metallica t-shirt underneath.

The book sends a tendril of uneasiness through me. For some odd reason, it feels like I should know what it is but for the life of me, I can’t understand why that is.

The boy doesn’t speak but keeps watching my every move with unnerving intensity. When the sight of the book doesn’t produce the reaction he’s clearly been aiming for, he puts the book down between us and turns it towards me. Slowly undoing the string binding the thing closed, he opens it and that’s when I get why I have felt like I should know it…

It’s Victor’s journal, the only one I couldn’t get to before I had to flee that fateful night because it was at his science lab in the city hospital. I knew that I had to get it but when I could safely go back, the place was trashed and burned with no trace of anything that might have survived the melee.

I hadn’t minded much because it was just his scientific journal where he’d just theorized that something like what I am can be created and how it would be possible to reconstruct a corpse with viable parts.

He hadn’t even written down how to scientifically complete the process, let alone about adding magic in the mix.
But here it is now in the hands of a stranger, albeit a very attractive one at that.

It makes sense now, him studying my scars with reverent fascination, him being startled when I spoke, him showing me the journal. It only means one thing – he has been testing the waters to confirm his suspicion of who I am and the satisfied look in his eyes clearly says that I’ve just given him exactly what he wanted.

I also realize why his eyes look older than his probable age. It’s because he’s a sorcerer and has somehow used this journal to find me.

I know of many lost spells and even a few of father’s own design that can do it. It also explains his shock about my speaking to him as father had never told a single sorcerer or sorceress about my existence because he had feared what kind of effect it would have on their hunger for powers.

So, the only way any of them had found out about me is from those blasted, ungodly tales of that thrice be damned housemaid. So far, I have deduced that most did not pay much stalk to old wives' tales as they call it all but maybe some do believe which is not good news, for anyone.

I say nothing as I remove my gaze from the journal to meet the stranger’s eyes and wait. I don’t know what he wants but it can’t be good. It never is with sorcerers.

He tucks the journal away again then leans in and finally says the most terrifyingly unexpected thing, “I need your help to kill a sorcerer who’s trying to raise an army of reanimated minions to enslave the entire human race.”