Percy Bysshe Shelley's Frankenstein-Personal Narrative

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I saw from the corner of my eyes a rich red covering my body and the cream carpet beneath me. I tried lifting myself up from where I lay but it proved to be impossible. As the seconds past, my limp body inches closer towards death. I could only just see from where I lay the man creeping through the night, not stopping for anyone. He inched forward towards me slowly like a cat waiting to pounce on his prey. He looked over me with an unpredictable look in his eyes as he analysed mine. My blurred vision and the dim room prevented me from seeing him in great detail. All that was visible was the brown eyes of a beast staring into my still grey ones. I lay there as silent as I could in hopes I appeared to be dead to the beast. He poked one of his gloved fingers at my face but I did not dare flinch. He…show more content…
Then, as suddenly as he came, he was up the stairs as silent as the night itself. I felt sick to my stomach thinking of all that was upstairs, now, with the monster. The ghastly sound of a child in pain screamed out. My child, Declan to be precise. An uneasy feeling stirred inside my stomach that wanted so desperately to crawl up the stairs and save him from the monster from under his bed. But, that was impossible as the monster was a man much stronger than I was and he had come from somewhere much worse than from under the boy’s midnight blue race car bed. No bedtime story or comfort could stop the pain my precious child was feeling. I tried crying out but all that came out was a quiet, raspy ‘help’. I lay there with my body sliced up just like somebody’s lunch, helpless and just about lifeless. As my innocent son howled out in what could only be excruciating pain, I lay paralysed in my own body. It felt like another knife slowly slicing through my pale flesh with every cry
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