The Moral of the Story
I should have realized the danger when I started. If only I had not been so proud, then maybe I would have connected the signs earlier. I will tell you my story so that others will not make the same mistakes.
My profession helped me with the project. All day during work I had to fix and change people, making an already good nose flawless or enhancing a gorgeous body into something more. I nipped in the waist; sculpted new faces and I made sagging skin tight again. Creating beauty from the ordinary is what I loved to do. Then I began to wonder, what if there was the perfect whole person. I began to collect parts and started to establish myself in the profession. Before long I made my name in the field and had collected enough parts to begin putting them together. Being a plastic surgeon does have its benefits when trying to create the perfect human.
I picked the ones that would not be missed from the streets, the nobodies and the forgotten. It did not matter who was attached to the parts, young or old men, they just needed to have useable features. I then took them back to the basement and kept them in storage in order to keep them fresh. The pieces had been piling up over the years and I was almost ready. I just needed the perfect vessel then it would be complete.
The last part for the project entered on a muggy afternoon in late summer. I think it was love at first sight. He wanted a change. He had the perfect build and body but everything else was wrong. His flaws were that his ears were too large, his nose was too big and his arms and legs were disproportionate to the rest of his body. He looked young, maybe twenty-one, a pure face compared to the scum of New York City. I asked him a few questions about where he lived, his medical history and most importantly if he had a family that would miss him if he had to stay. The vessel replied that he was trying to get away from his old life and that he wanted to become someone new. When he said those words his fate was sealed and I whisked him away to get changed.
Once the vessel was under the knife, I got to work. My first task was the nose. I reached for the scalpel and grinning slightly I made the first incision. The blade slid smoothly through the skin around the nose in quick graceful movements. The flesh eager to be reshaped peeled up to greet my needle and swift fingers. Blood spattered on my white jacket with each cut, and I finally began to see my dream come to life. When that task was finished I hurried off to the basement to get the rest of the parts for my masterpiece.
I flung open the door to the basement which served as a refrigerator for the parts. The mist poured out into the corridor from the door and snaked around my legs. I looked around to the see the room filled with sleeping bodies resting on gurneys, straddling the border between life and death. Their chests rose and fell in perfect unison as I lined each gurney into the order that the part would be needed. I wheeled out the first body, whose legs had been marked for removal. The monitor beeped as I looked over its charts and information, double-checking that they were the right ones. The arms were next in line to get added after the legs. The last part that would be added was the most difficult, the eyes. No one else had ever tried to replace someone’s eyes before, and I was anxious to be the first. At last I was finished. My hand grazed his arm while I marveled at my work and I felt a pang of accomplishment. I was exhausted from working and I decided to take a quick nap before I roused my creation from his slumber.
The creation awoke with a jolt. His eyes snapped open, purple orbs with gold flakes, and gazed about the room in childlike wonderment. He closed his eyes, long dark lashes brushing against the pale skin as he breathed peacefully, content in his solitude. His sharp cheekbones pulled taut against his flawless skin. The lips could not be anymore glorious, pale pink and lush. He pulled himself into a sitting position while wiggling his fingers and toes. With his head bent forward, strands of his silky dark hair covered his eyes and part of his face, casting dark shadows. His muscles rippled as he stood up and swung his arms to their sides. He stood at six foot two and slowly brought his hands up to his head. He pulled his fingers through the hair and found two small scars at the base of his neck, the first of many on his body. The other scars were along his back near the spine and on the inside of his arms. The scars were small delicate interlacing lines that resembled an exotic tattoo.
I arose many hours later and felt refreshed. As I was blinking away the cobwebs from my eyes, I heard a loud crash from the operating room and rushed to the room fearful that something may have happened. When I reached the room I was shocked at what I saw, my beautiful masterpiece surrounded by the broken shards of a glass vial he had knocked over. The glass caught the last rays of the sunset and covered the room in sparkling light. He was alive and more glorious than I could imagine, like something created by the Gods. He looked angelic with the light behind him casting a soft glow about his body. I stood there speechless and proud of what I accomplished. I decided to give him a name so that he could survive in the world outside, Damon.
The months passed and I taught Damon everything he needed to know. He learned how to dress himself, get his own food, speak, write, read, and interact with people. We went on daily walks through Central Park and visited all the museums of the city because I wanted to teach him culture. We even saw the occasional musical on Broadway which I carefully picked. With everything I was cautious of what he came into contact with because I was fearful that his good nature could be corrupted. I loved him like a son and I made sure that he never felt alone.
During the winter after the surgery I had to attend a conference outside the city for two days. I thought I would be able to leave Damon alone because he had progressed so well, but as a precaution I decided to make a set of rules for him to follow while I was away. He could not leave the apartment, watch television or read the newspaper. I had yet to teach him right from wrong and although I was fearful that he could be influenced by something negative, the fear did not discourage me and I left for the conference.
When I returned from the conference as I went into the apartment I saw yellow bird feathers littering the floor around Damon’s room. I was not concerned since I knew that my canary sometimes got loose and his feathers would sometimes fall off. But something told me that this was different and I was worried. I knocked on his door, which slowly opened. What I saw chilled me to the bone. My beautiful creation was sitting on the ground surrounded by bird feathers and blood. He looked up at me with innocent eyes and I stifled a scream. His face was covered with blood and his teeth shone crimson red when he smiled. I slowly backed out of the room and ran into the living room. I began to sob and he came to sit beside me on the white couch. “What is wrong, father?” he asked innocently unaware of the crime he had committed. I shook my head in disgust but then it dawned on me that, he didn’t know what he did. I calmly told him about his deed and the color slowly drained from his face as the realization struck him. Tears began to pour down his face and gradually the blood washed off his face. When he was finished crying, I asked him where he got the idea and he said it was from a book called Frankenstein that he found in the library.
I spent the next two months teaching him right from wrong and that murder is horrible. He quickly forgot the incident and our lives went back to the way they had been before.
A year passed since I created Damon and I wanted to give him a birthday present. He said that he felt lonely while I was at work so he wanted a companion. I knew right away that I would give him dog that he could love and cherish. It took me awhile but I finally came up with the perfect breed for him, a Dalmatian. They were cute, cuddly and the perfect companion. I gave him the puppy and a birthday cake when I came home from work. I was so proud of who he had blossomed into and how well he functioned in society. I could let him wander the city by himself for a few hours at a time since he knew it so well. He was always finding new places that are so beautiful that I had missed before, I was so happy to have him as a son.
The dog and Damon were inseparable and it was a surprise when I did not hear the dog bark as I got home on a chilly winter day. Though it did not alarm me since they could be on a walk but as I put my keys away I noticed the leash was still there. I got a dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach and a strong sense of déjà vu washed over me as I rushed to Damon’s room. When I reached the room my worst fear was confirmed. There in a puddle of blood sat Damon and the lifeless body of his companion in his lap. Blood splattered the once white wall creating a pattern of death and sorrow. Blood dripped from his face and streaked his hair giving him the appearance of a devious fiend. He sat there surrounded by the death and blood and his only response when he saw me was “How was work, father?” He got up, cleaned the blood from his hands and gave me a hug. I felt sick and faint. How could this have happened to my boy whom I had protected from the evils of the world. He loved the dog like no other and would do anything to make it happy. In my distress I did not notice that the T.V was on and that there was a special on animal abuse.