Like a lost puppy, Stephen hobbled through the blackened damp night, the only sense of life being the drips of rain water streaking down his prickly cactus of a face and exploding in a splash near his tattered shoes. His grey eyes seemed stuck to the ground as he stared at nothingness and dragged his tired legs with him.
After another long day of work, Stephen’s mind continuously spun and reeled like the machine he had grown to know meticulously as a worker. The solitary voice within his head seemed to echo with a bleak hint as he thought to himself in the darkness.
“Oh wherest thy dear lady Rachael? Her golden smile twould bring my heart much needed happiness.”
Rachael was the one person who added a hint of sparkle to Stephen’s monotonous life. It was at night when the two could meet in the streets of Coketown and imagine their world free from suffocating smoke which leaked from the assembly of factories in which they worked. But it was not Rachael that night who Stephen would typically see and relish in their time spent, speaking of this fanciful fictional life.
With his head hunched over like a tired ogre, his eyes still glued to the floor below, a surge of unexpected pain rushed to the top of his balding grey haired head. His eyes bounced up immediately from the cold ground, looking up to pin point the culprit as if he could see clearly as day; but the black night prevented any chance for clear vision.
“Rachael…tis, tis thoust you?” he managed to squeeze out uncertainly, in hopes that the throbbing pain underneath his wiry hair was from blindly bumping into his lady admirer. But it was not the soft spoken Rachael who answered. Instead, a deep bellowing grunt sprang from the darkness.
“Rayyy-chuull?” the voice sounded out her name a little too slow Stephen thought. The dark voice continued, “Rayy-chuull? No I am not Ray-chull. My creator named me Frankenstein. What is your name?”
Stephen answered blindly unafraid, ”Oh thy name tis Stephen Blackpool, but thoust can call me Stephen.” He paused for a moment only to rub his rub his throbbing head, "Tis nice t’ meet you.”
Stephen’s sight was full of nothing but a blank slate of black, but the darkness allowed the two beings to exchange their soul's findings. Stephen was surprised to find out how similar Frankenstein was to him. Like Stephen, Frankenstein was stuck in a life which was created for him; he had no place to hide. He never knew who he was because so much of him was foreign interconnection. Both Stephen and Frankenstein were destined for darkness.
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