He, my creator, was a man of contradictions. He craved knowledge, yet recoiled from his creation. He called me his monster, but I was merely a reflection of his own fear. I yearned for connection, for understanding, but he fled from me.
I was a child learning to walk, to talk, to understand the world around me. I stumbled, I faltered, I yearned for guidance. But I found only rejection, fear, and hatred. I was a freak, a creature of the night, shunned by society, forced to roam the desolate landscape in solitude.
Yet, within my monstrous form, a spark of humanity flickered. I learned to read, to think, to feel. I witnessed the beauty of nature, the warmth of a fire, the solace of a sunset. I yearned for love, for acceptance, but my appearance scared all who crossed my path.
I sought out my creator, hoping for answers, for compassion. But he remained elusive, consumed by his own guilt and fear. In his absence, I turned to others, seeking solace in the company of those who shunned me. Yet, even among them, I found only hatred and violence.
Driven to desperation, I yearned for revenge. I sought out my creator, desperate to make him understand the pain he inflicted upon me. The pain of rejection, of loneliness, of being an outcast. I wanted him to see the humanity within my monstrous form, the heart that beat beneath my grotesque exterior.
But in my rage, I lost control. I took revenge on those I thought responsible for my suffering, unaware that I only fuelled the fire of my own despair. My actions only cemented my image as a monster, a beast to be feared and hunted.
In the end, I stood alone, a creature of darkness consumed by his own loneliness. My creator, the man who gave me life, was lost to me, consumed by his own guilt and fear. I was abandoned, ostracized, forever alone in a world that never truly understood me. I was a monster, yes, but I was also a being with hopes, dreams, and desires. And, in my own way, I was also a victim of the man who created me.