Patchwork-Frankenstein Fiction

Patchwork- A Frankenstein Fan Fiction by Cesteel
Based off of the original Frankenstein by Mary Shelley


-Chapter 1-
There was coldness and isolation.  There was darkness.  There was solitude.  The howling wind and blistering cold were nothing to the tall, broad figure that stood, wrapped in though.  That which bound his soul to the rest of mankind was gone.  That man was dead and most likely buried in the icy sea.  All other connections were gone.  No one would claim him.  No one desired him.  
Standing on a glacier in the middle of the artic, the monster threw the last few scraps of wood from his shattered sled into the roaring flames.  In the midst of bleak coldness that had surrounded him for so long, this fire, with golden fingers that traced the outlines of heaven, offered him a small comfort.  His scarred and stitched mouth twitched into a macabre grin.  This was his funeral pyre.
A whine issued from one of the dogs as it watched its master toss the sled into the flames.  The mangy canine could sense the end drawing near, not only for its master, but for itself and the rest of the team.  After receiving a sympathetic glance from the eight-foot-tall man with yellow, watery eyes, it limped its way to the other dogs.  
Stepping back as the fire grew, the monster turned to face the sea that gurgled and splashed across the sides of the glacier.  In the distance, black, curling storm clouds loomed.  Thunder was a distant but distinct sound.  The man frowned.  Hopefully, his fire would be hot enough to consume and destroy him before the storm would come.        
Another whine from the dogs distracted the monster from the rolling, thunderous clouds.  Kneeling down, he petted the heads of the two that now stood before him.  He smiled sadly.  These were the only beasts that could be near him, and he was abandoning them.  He ran his hands across the soft heads.  The other six dogs were curled into tight balls, the noses tucked beneath their tails.
There was nothing for him.  His creator was dead.  Even though his creator had never wanted him in the first place, there was a void in the creature.  Every person that knew of his existence was either dead or suffocating the memory of him with happier thoughts.  Felix, Agatha, Safie, and their aged father had long since moved on to a more prosperous future.  The small girl he had saved from the river had no recollection of him, and her father most likely refused to think of the horrific monster that had held his near-dead child.  William Frankenstein, the child brother of his creator, was dead by the creature's hand, as was Elizabeth, she who was betrothed to the creator.  And now, the creator himself, Victor Frankenstein, was dead.  There was nothing left.    
The monster was jolted from his dark reminiscence.  There was suddenly a violent tremor that ran up the glacier, accompanied by a cracking noise.  Head snapping up, the monster saw that the clouds that had been so distant but moments before were now directly above him.  An icy rain pelted him and caused his pyre to hiss and whine, though it was in no danger of dying out.  The waves beneath him churned and groaned as they whipped and slammed against the glacier.  He felt the ice beneath him shift and begin to move.  There was little time.  
The glacier was going to cave in.  It trembled and rattled violently.  The dogs howled and cried as they raced in circles over the glacier.  Rain drops fell from the sky like cold needles, hissing as they died in the fire the monster had created.  
Whirling, the monster realized that the glacier would soon collapse into the tumultuous sea bellow.  He had little time.  With a running start, he leapt into the air, aiming his body for the heart of the flames.  However, a sizemick shift broke the part of the glacier that bore the fire.  The monster landed on the edge of the glacier, arms and hands reaching for anything that he could possibly catch hold of.  Behind him he heard the crashing of the glacier he had previously been occupying.  Ice and dogs collapsed into the sea.  
Scrambling onto the glacier, the monster tried to gain his footing on the slippery, wobbling, chunk of ice.  With every intention of once more throwing himself into the flames, he took another step forward.  A rogue wave, booming into the side of the glacier, sent the monster crashing down, slamming his head against the icy floor.  Knocked unconscious, the only part of him that landed in the fire was his arm.
The storm continued for days.  The roaring of waves and the boom of thunder were the only things to be heard.  The shrieking wind blasted snow and sleet through the air.  It cut and whipped through every surface.  Glaciers toppled and collapsed.  Destruction, in the form of arctic rage, was king.
For the monster, there was nothing heard, nothing felt, nothing seen nor understood.  A strange sleep had enveloped him, numbing him to everything around.  He was unaware as the flames licked at his left arm.  He knew not when the glacier beneath him caved in, and sent him crashing into the waves.  He somehow managed to remain on a small scrap of ice, along with a few pieces of charred wood from his dismantled sled.  In this state, unconscious and defenseless, he drifted.  
He was vaguely aware when his body no longer felt icy, and when a glimpse of gentle warmth found him.  The sudden pain that shot through his left arm eclipsed that gentle warmth.  Despite that, however, he still did not wake.  In his delirium, he heard voices, those of young men, and old man, a woman.  They were incoherent and indistinct, but they were there.  The voices were there with him in the darkness and nothingness.
-
Wick, Scotland, Septemper 18th, 1788.  The sunrise was beautiful.  It always was after a storm.  The orange and pink light gleamed off of the calm, gray surface of the ocean.  The early morning autumn air was crisp, yet invigorating.  On the shore, Neil Kemp jumped from stone to stone, searching in the small pools for something of interest.  At fifteen, he was still easily amused.  He ran a hand through his thick, curly red hair, then ran the hand down his face to wipe the sleep away.  On the sand, his twenty year-old sister, Lillian, yawned as she pulled her wavy brown hair back into a braid.  She looked up at a gull flew lazily past them.  A small smile lighted her features.  
"Don't drown, boy!" she called to Neil as she turned her back and walked down the shore line.  Neil yelled back some obscenity, making Lillian laugh.  She would have to remember to remind James to watch his language around his kid brother later, but until then, she could secretly be amused.  
Pulling her shawl tightly around her shoulders, Lillian watched the foamy surf splash against the sand.  Branches of gray driftwood bobbed in the light chop.  The young woman retrieved a few pieces and laid them on the surf, safe from the reach of the tide.  They would make good kindling.  As she absent-mindedly picked up a plank of wood, she became aware of the strange texture.  Glancing down at it, she realized it was no random branch, but a carved plank.  Sections of it were black, indicating possible fire.  Lillian's eyes moved out towards the vast sea beyond.  It was not uncommon for wreckage to wash ashore, but she wanted to see what the plank had come from.  There was no evident sign of doomed ship on the horizon.  Looking once more at the plank, she shrugged and tossed it into the sand.
The sound of wings and greedy cry of gulls increased as Lillian made her way across the shoreline.  She dismissed the noises, presuming the birds were fighting over a dead fish or two, and focused her attention on the sunset.  The warm sphere was almost completely over the horizon now.  
Lillian tripped.
Landing with a soft whump in the sand, Lillian cried out softly.  She rolled over onto her back and brushed the sand off of her face.  Her eyes darted, searching eagerly for Neil.  Had he seen?  No?  Good.  He would harass her about that for a week.  Picking herself up and brushing herself off, she searched for what it was that had caught her foot.  It did not take her long to discover it.  
The metal frame of a sled protruded awkwardly from the sand.  It was rusted and dilapidated and altogether useless.  Perhaps this was what that plank had come from.  But what was it doing here?  Lillian's eyes studied the surrounding area for any sort of clue.  The cry of the gulls was growing louder, and ever more obnoxious.  
Those damned winged pests…. Can't they quiet down long enough for me to think? She thought to herself concerning the noise of the gulls.  Her eyes began to search for the cluster of seabirds, hoping to find them and scare them away.  
Peering over a large stone, she found them.  There were dozens of them, and more were on their way.  They all seemed to be focused on a large, dark mass.  How strange.  Lillian was at a loss for what it could be.  Whatever it was, it was massive.  Moving away from her hiding place, she flapped her arms and called out to the birds, sending them flying away in a feathery, crying panic.  Lillian laughed at her handy work.  She had made quick work of those sea-vultures.                                              
The mirth quickly died.  She spied what it was they had been gathering around.  Motionless on the sand lay a man.  It was soaked through, covered in sand and sea plants.  Half of his body was still caught in the tide.  
Rushing to his side, Lillian grabbed on of his arms and began to pull him out of the sea.  His woolen clothes were torn and soiled.  The left sleeve looked as if it had been burned away, and the left arm was black and green.  He was heavy, and he was large.  His shoulders were broad, and when his full length was out of the water, the young woman was shocked to see just how large he was.  He must have been at least eight feet tall!
Kneeling beside him, Lillian grunted as she tried to roll him onto his back.  On her second attempt, she was successful.  His long, dark, matted hair covered his face.  As she began to pull the hair away from his face, she froze.  Her right hand was directly below his jaw line, her knuckles brushing against it, and she could feel deep scars and stitches.  What was this?  Pulling all of his hair back, Lillian's hands flew to her mouth to hold back the scream.
His face was lifeless.  His skin was ashen, and seemed taunt across his face.  There were rows of stitches running across the middle of his face, down the left side of his jaw line, and across his neck.  There were deep, purple and black circles around his closed eyes.  
Lillian remained still as she stared at the horrific visage.  She was suddenly snapped out of this trance when she heard a rasping noise come from him.  After hesitating for a moment, she lowered her head to his mouth.  He was breathing!  He was alive!  But what was Lillian to do?  Leave this monster here?  That was a tempting idea.  After all, she could forget she ever saw this horror.  As well, it was unlikely he would survive.  As she inspected his arm more closely, she could see it was severly burned.  How had that happened?
Or should she take him to the house and tend to him?  Her brows knit together as she thought.  The rasping breath continued.  Her eyes moved towards the gruesome face.  It looked as if he were in pain.  The still face almost looked plaintively at her.  She couldn't leave him.
"Neil!" she called as she stood up quickly.  "Niel!  Go get James!  Hurry!"    
Her eyes never moved from the monstrous creature as she awaited the arrival of her brothers.