The Funeral Pyre

                The sun had not set upon the swirling snow and perpetual ice of the northernmost regions of the planet for over a month. Here there is never a thawing of the ice, and cold reigns through the year. Here and there wizened shrubs grew, eking out a precarious existence off of the barren soil, but for the most part the landscape resembled a wasteland. It was summer, as was shown by the incessant sunlight and the fact that some of the shrubs had started to flower in a half-hearted manner. The animal life that survived here was hardy and tough, as any weak creatures would be weeded out quickly. The only living creatures on our setting were a white fox dozing in the feeble noon sunlight and a polar bear slowly ambling along in the distance, hunting for its next meal. These two were the only witnesses to the extraordinary scene that was about to unfold before them.

                A figure appeared in the distance, crunching loudly through the snow as it came nearer. The fox’s ears pricked up as it detected a – it couldn’t quite classify what it saw, having never encountered anything of this sort during its uneventful and average life. What he saw was a large and grotesque figure slowly trudging onto the scene, clutching a folded sheet of paper tightly. Its approach alarmed the fox and sent it scurrying to a safer distance, where it warily prowled. The figure took no notice of it, and indeed seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings, bludgeoning his way through the knee-deep snow and ignoring the sub-zero temperature. After emitting a low groan, and shedding a tear that froze on his cheek, the figure began collecting the shriveled shrubs that were scattered about the plateau, uprooting them effortlessly and piling them up.

                When he had accumulated a sizeable pile of these, he unfolded the scrap of paper he was clutching. It appeared to be a crude image of a female of his species, drawn crudely with charcoal on some form of parchment. It was stained brown and worn, but looked to have been done with love and care during many months of hiding and running. The figure stood still for some minutes, studying the contours of the picture, and tracing the outlines with his fingers. He sighed deeply, and then viciously tore the portrait into shreds in a sudden outburst of fury. He mastered himself quickly, however, and stooped and picked up two rocks while piling the scraps into a small mound. He scraped the stones together, sending forth a flurry of bright sparks which ignited the papers. He fed the fire carefully, while the fox looked on with some interest. Soon, the figure had a sizeable blaze going, which had melted all the snow in the near vicinity.

“It is finished! My life has been robbed of its purpose, and I now commit it into the hands of Almighty God, trusting that he will be more just than his wretched creations!”

After delivering this eulogy to the world, he gazed into the depths of the fire, seemed to read a promise there and remained motionless for some time, as though wrestling with himself. He sighed again, almost as if in resignation, and stepped into the flames without any apparent display of emotion. The outline of his form was visible inside the inferno for a few moments, standing erect and still in the white heart of the flames, then it was gone. The blaze continued to burn on, greedily sucking in air and scaring the fox off with a start.

                After an hour, the fire died down and the fox returned cautiously to investigate the interesting phenomenon. It poked about among the ashes but, finding nothing of interest, trotted off to invest it’s time in something more profitable. A light snowfall began, and in the background the polar bear was sniffing the ground, tracing an unidentifiable scent that it had never encountered before. It eventually arrived at the pyre, sniffed around some more, and then took a large white bone, scored black from the flames, out of the ashes and moseyed off, sucking its latest snack. Within five minutes, the gentle snow covered the Monster’s Pyre, erasing all evidence that anyone had ever been there.

Author's Note - Of course, I have nothing on Mary Shelley, but I've decided to take a shot. Let me know what you think, please!