Frankenstein Creative Writing

A compelling paradigm of how creativity improves the world for the better is in the novel Frankienstein written by Mary Shelly. Its plot is about a man called Dr. Victor Frankeinstein creating artificial life out of corpse. The monster is rejected and lonely wanders the streets. He develops anger towards his creator –Victor- and kills Victor’s brother and wife. Victor chases his creation around the world and dies in the process. This shows that Dr. Frankenstein realises the horror of artificial life only when people die and he knows that artificial life is deleterious. If it weren’t for his creativity in inventing artificial life many more people would be harmed.

Suddenly at the back of the room I saw a what looked like a moving corpse. It turned its head in my direction and smiled, blood covering the mouth region. And as the creature smiled I saw broken, blood bathed, teeth. Long, matted, and rugged hair ran down its back, giving it an animalistic appearance. It moved towards me in a limping, ugly manner. I backed away whimpering. I backed my way right out of the foul doorway and into the grimy hall. I continued to back up until I backed up as far as possible. Snarling, the living nightmare in front of me continued to make its way towards me, stumbling over bodies as it went.

At 11.26pm a girl with sleek straight hair walked along the middle of a deserted street, the sharp heels of her shoes making a muted click every time they hit the damp cobblestone road beneath them. As she walked her hair swayed only slightly, as if not even the most powerful of winds could cause it to be anything less than beautiful. The girl took beauty very seriously, her outfit was always creaseless, her nails were always without chips and her shoes were always polished to the point of immaculateness. But it was her hair that was the most beautiful thing about her; it was long and as black as the night sky way above her, and shone as if it too had stars though out it. Never was a single hair out of place; never was her hair anything less

A disturbingly ugly blob of chunky orange and red sphere covered in sustenance bent in offensive directions which would induce screams of agony for any who were forced into the position was laid before me. A larger figure than before leaned over the beast as the monster lay there. Then, the figure left the enclosure and only the curled up giant, behemoth, the shiny coat, and I were

Frankenstein Frankenstein was written by Mary Shelly. We can tell by Mary Shelly’s back ground, were she has incorporated some of her social experiences in to her novel. Mary was the daughter of an anarchist father (William Godwin) and a feminist mother (Mary Wollstonecraft). In today’s terms this could be thought as a ‘wild upbringing’. Mary grew up in an environment that suggested she needed to question the way society was being run.

"In the distant future, you were chosen to visit another planet. On this planet you have discovered a new organism (plant or animal whatever you want). Your job is to return to Earth and give supportive evidence that your organism is living."

I walked up to the door and opened it and walked out with my eyes closed. Then I opened them sunlght hiting my eyes blinding me. As I look away, I see the land it nothing but ruins of the old world now just covered with dust and dirt. It's been weeks since I seen a friendly person it's geting dark, there was a house in the ruins. I guess it's a good place to stay so I walked up to the house walls, and looked for the door then I found it was locked. Time to look for a key but did not find one. So I took the raider way in by running into the door like a boss. So I backed up and ran into the door. The door fell with me on it, it hurt but still got up I was in the living room it was dirty some of the chairs were old and falling

"Well, that's mighty strange." He spoke aloud as he panned the area with his squinted old eyes. “Don’t think I've ever seen the devils playground so empty and hushed."

"You passed out. Right in the doorway. i had to carry you to my room."

My eyes dart around me searching for routes of escape. The moon illuminates the corridor with a ghostly light ad a soft wind wafts through eliciting groans from a nearby door. One bare foot after the other I pad towards the door. I fear the door may creak if I open it to slowly so I opt to swing it open and make a fast break up the stairs. Voices begin to clamour behind me and I know I’ve been spotted. There is a curtained window at the top of the first flight of stairs that looks over the great skyline of the city. I know not what sort of madness drove me to step out of it but I did. I now stood on the window ledge the glass of the window my only support. The city lights before me twinkle with a dazzlingly reverie and the sounds of traffic down below is too loud in my ears. The wind out here is stronger too, willowing about me caring voices that beckon me to death. I close my eyes and pray no one dares open this

“W-w-where am I?! T-t-this doesn’t look like the hospital…” the mortal trailed off. Ugh, this mortal hadn’t even noticed she was there.

“Well, apparently the elder sent every village in Bichon Frise a message. He wants to hold a meeting at Elder Village. Something about the end of our days.”

“I usually don’t make these trips,” Tabitha said. “But when I found out this was your retreat, I asked if I could tag along. I wanted to see you. Your island is beautiful.”

Hunter gripped his slender blade that was tipped with dried blood and prepared for an attack. The creature shimmered in the golden glow of the sun as it advances with its dark, cold eyes. Its stench was a pungent combination of week old socks, rotten eggs, and rancid old cheese. Its skin was closer to armor than it was to anything a human would have. It sniffed the air, and as it was doing so huge oceans of thick saliva rolled down its crescent tusks. The creature swung at the air missing Hunter by the smallest of measurements. Using this moment he stabbed the monster with his rich ebony handle and curved blade. He knew anytime you were reluctant to use your weapon it will be slitting or stabbing you next, but not by your own hands. It

Mary Shelley starts Frankenstein with a tone that much resembles many of my peers’ during their speeches, regarding Kantz creation of Shirley as an act that is as devious as Frankenstein’s. It might even be, but just like Victor Frankenstein, Kantz also had pure intentions by the time she brought Shirley to life. Her main goal was only to provide college professors with a composite of the average college student to facilitate their understanding and enable them to target their student’s needs, in order to actively lead them towards writing an effective, original text with the information acquired from previous texts. Truth be told, Shirley’s persona could even have been effective to the purpose of summing up the average college student in the early 90s, when Kantz’s text was published. She has flaws, of course, but maybe her difficulties were similar to most of her counterparts’ by the time she was created. Nowadays, though, almost 30 years later, Shirley’s composite is inefficient to that purpose, and needs an update, as it bears little generational connection to the current college student.