Frankenstein-Personal Narrative

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The shore near, the scent of home far, but I clung on. The rough bark of the log chafed against my bare chest, and my hands were weary from holding on. I inhaled, praying that my body can push toward the sand, and I felt my strength bitterly rise for a last stand. I heaved my futile body on the dry sea of sand and quietly allowed the light to dance one last time in the sunset of my existence. I had not expected to feel, after an unknown amount of time, the gentle sensation of a small creature slobbering all over my face. In fact, I had not expected to feel anything. My resignation to the dark caverns of the hallowed Hades and the ghostly Persephone was fabricated out of the sheer desperation and weakness of my mortal body. After all these years, my spirit still clung onto the possibility of seeing those comforting peaks of Ithaca before I slipped the coin to the pocket of the ferryman.…show more content…
It donned a large cloak of silken strands of the deepest silver. Its tail was long and eagerly wagged in rhythm with the arched floppy ears. It had eyes of golden thunder that became two suns in the cloudy sky of its face, but as soon as I reached to pet the creature, it galloped away, leaving me in the wake of the swirling dust and sand. I sighed, but my spirits were lifted by the sight of a person walking toward me. A god perhaps, for I saw no settlement in the vicinity. “Good father! Are you hurt? Come with me to the House of Maivifolia. She is the most gracious host and will host you at her house,” he shouted. He sprinted, eager to aid the weary old man I must have seemed. He was tanned, but had the build of a scholar, not a warrior and his straw curls lay askew on his wise head. His eyes, blanketed in deep creases, still shone bright with their thoughts and
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