Human and Inhuman

Horrid. Fiend. Hideous. Wretch. Wreck. Despicable. These are not words you call something you are proud of. I sometimes imagine myself as a piece of art, left alone on display. But people don't gaze at my amazing qualities. Victor sees me as a disturbance, one of those unfortunately turns science took him. Like a three-headed lab rat. Perhaps even a chemical "discovered" they call X. Perhaps I remind him of his guilt for reaching into God's basket and pulling me out.

But what does human mean? Despair if I possessed no money, no friends, no kind of property? Loneliness if I find no mate? Sickness if I have no strength? I think I am the same as the page that a writer made, written: I could be a slave and he my master until the day when he is ashamed of my inperfection and casts me away. But I am still alive, his accident.

Am I not a human as what they create?

Defiance of Nature, Creations from Nature

Victor has said, "The most learned philosopher knew little more. He had partially unveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal lineaments were still a wonder and a mystery. He might dissect, anatomize and give names; but, not to speak of a final cause, causes in their secondary and tertiary grades were utterly unknown to him. I had gazed upon the fortifications and impediments that seemed to keep human beings from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly and ignorantly I had repined."

Yesteday at the beach I watched the children play. I ask myself who taught them to mold sand into castles. Why not sand into birds? Why not sand into roses? The castle is the illusion of strength but we all know the gentle water swallows it away in time. Why create something that does not last? Why nature into human things?

Its imperfections easily disapear and the child can start over.