Everlast

CHAPTER ONE

Since leaving London on a cold winter's night The Creature, Dr Victor Frankenstein's first creation, became a solivagant. Life, as he thought, hadn't been too kind a friend. He felt no love or acceptance, just a pale hideous face people mocked.

I just wanted to be loved, not hated, he thought.

A dirty beige duffel bag slumped over his left shoulder; John Clare trudged through the open fields till he found a footpath. The sun, which he hadn't seen in a long while since leaving the ship, glistened on the dewy meadows. The birds, singing their songs flew against the azure sky. Hay and dust particles swept away with the light breeze.

Poor and undesirable, John's finger combed his raven greasy hair over his right temple, which bore the atrocious long surgical scars. Pulling his coat collars taught, hiding his rounded greyish jaw, he kept his head down, not wanting to attract the wrong sort of attention. A few miles ago a boy had pointed at his face, laughing and gathering the other locals to have a dig. John managed to slide away before a crowd formed.

Humankind! At first, he would have given anything to be like them. But Lilly's words hammered the back of his mind. You want to walk in the village and hold my hand. When people are cruel you want me to love you even more. How can you imagine that I can care for you? Does that face belong alongside this?

He unknowingly touched his face trying to force her words away. He needed to be away from mankind; after all, they have treated him with contempt. He focused around his surrounding, admiring sounds of machinery working on the land and the washing of the stream following his path.

The clamping of horseshoes pounded in the distance followed by a shriek in sheer horror. The black stallion charged across the plains, heading down the slope.

"HELP!"

The badness he endured throughout his life filled like thorns in his damaged heart. A part of him wanted to play ignorant, and continue walking but her distress called out to him.

Tossing the duffle bag to the side, he hunched his shoulders forward. The stallion's eyes flared red, its powerful hooves ripping out heaps of soil as it raced its way ahead. Wrestling this wild beast would take all of John's strength.

The slam nearly tore at his bones. John grabbed the reins in one hand and pushed the other under the horse's neck. The horse naturally wanted to balance on his back legs, kicking with the front. John arms, as if made of steel, clamped the horse in place.

He pushed the horse and saw the rider tossed to the side. She clutched her arm, her clothes covered in soggy mud. Her hair darker in colour became loose from a previous French braid, fell in dishevel darkened waves.

John wrestled the horse to the ground, and after much struggle the horse calmed, breathing quickly but showed no sign of disobeying. He let go, fearing if he had killed it.

He turned to the lady, trudging through the mud, stooping down to her.

"Madam, are you hurt?" he asked, his voice soft, concerned.

Monica Everlast wiped the mud off her stricken face with the back of her riding jacket. She spat some of the mud she accidently swallowed. Trying to remember why she had convinced herself to ride the crazy stallion left her mind as she caught his haunting yellow eyes.

"My left elbow," she said, trying to get up. "I think it's broken."

"Please allow me to help you."

He picked her up, placing his arm behind her back. She slipped a few times before deciding to lift her as they got to the path.