Creator

The creature looks at me with sunken eyes. I don’t like his beady stare. I see it in my nightmares. In every shadow. In puddles on the street when it rains.

I built his flesh and bone, but I did not fill him with cursed life. I don’t know what did.

He sits in his cage, never eating, never sleeping. The creature — my creature — does not speak when I ask him to. He only speaks when I sleep, crying for me. I hate his screams.

I don’t know why I built him. I think it was curiosity. Could I make life? Or, at least, could I make a vessel for life? Maybe I wasn’t asking the right question.

I didn’t think about whether I wanted to take care of an abomination after it was created.

… I wonder what he thinks of me? I wonder if he can read my mind? Something about those eyes… I think he knows.

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