November 16, 2010
By rondarox BRONZE, Eugene, Oregon
rondarox BRONZE, Eugene, Oregon
3 articles 1 photo 2 comments

Favorite Quote:
'I don't know how to put this, But I'm kind of a big deal' Ron Burgundy- Anchorman

'Bears, Beats, Battlestar Galactica' The Office

Consciousness slowly sets in.

I can't remember. I have memories, however, they are blurry and so distant.

I open my eyes. I'm in a simple room with walls made of brick. I am laying on something hard and flat. A table?

I sit up. Pain. Every follicle of skin aches, Every muscle is sore. Voices are coming from outside. There are a lot of them and they're yelling. I can't tell what they're saying.

I look around the room. There's a wooden arched door and an open window. I'm sitting on a long wooden table.

I stand up, walk to the window, and look out. I see forest stretching on for miles into mountains. Blazing orange light shines on everything. The sun is setting. I notice I'm on the second story of a large, stone castle. Then I see them. A group of people, an angry mob. They are below me in front of what appears to be the castle's front entrance. They're carrying torches, pitchforks, and weapons.

Fear seizes my body. There must be someone, or something, dangerous in this castle.

I turn from the window and I see it. Such a gruesome sight. I am unable to flinch.

He has a web of thick, black stitches across his face and neck. The stitches are holding together miss-matched pieces of skin. On each side of his neck is a massive silver bolt. And his eyes. I couldn't look away. Something about his eyes held me captive. I recognize those deep green eyes. Those look like... my eyes.

Reality hits. I'm looking in a mirror.

I touch my face and feel the thick stitches. I look at my hands. Thick, black stitches go directly around my wrists.

These aren't my hands. That's not my face.

I stare at my hands in almost an awed amazement. Then it sinks in. That thing in the reflection is me.

One unanswerable question comes to mind; Who did this to me?

Thoughts come on in a wave of fear.

Help, I need help. The mob must be here to save me, to protect me from whoever did this to me.

I run to the window and try to shout for help, however, what came out of my mouth was just an inaudible deep groan. The mob sees me. They yell louder and start throwing rocks.

What are they doing? Why aren't they trying to help me?

Then I hear it. Just one word. A word from someone in the mob. One word changed everything.


That's when I realize they aren't here to save me. They want to hurt me, to kill me.

Like flicking a switch, I'm not scared anymore. Rage consumes my body.

I am no longer Frank. Whatever fraction of me, of Frank, that's in that creature is fading fast. The controls of the body are being taken over by something dark and evil. Taken over by...

A Monster.

The author's comments:
A story of Perspective.

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