M
By: Jihoon Shin
Whether or not he was a medical anomaly or a lab-made Frankenstein was unclear. As far as the world knew, he was first found in a random hospital bathroom without any parents or any sign of origin. When the doctors found him, they believed he wasn’t human—they were sure of it. But when a DNA test proved that he was indeed a human being, an infant at that, the doctors were resigned with disbelief.
The first few days of his discovery were tumultuous at best. For days, every major media outlet cried out the same word: Monster. Monster was the closest description of his body—something so foreign and disturbing, that even the media couldn't put a name to the diabolical absurdity of his appearance.
His skin was just too smooth, and his face too proportional.
I remember the day he was born. I watched the news broadcaster cry out the words “SATAN’S HERE!” as the Monster was stuffed in a cage by the military. But despite the cruelty and the chaos imposed upon this small creature, I was happy.
That was before I received a phone call yesterday. The call was about an explosion near the lab he was held in. An “assassination attempt.” But there really was no way of knowing at that time.
My mind was boiling as I zoned in and out of the conversation, with a mix of emotions coursing through my veins. She was in charge of security. Why did she fail?
A deformity in his face meant that there could be a possible difficulty in the experiments. But I needed him to keep being a Monster. I needed his smooth, proportional, and tall-nosed face to be just like that.
HIM
It was too quick to remember, but not too sudden to forget the look on the man’s face when he threw that bomb at me. Waking up in the hospital room, I overheard a conversation between two security guards standing outside. But before I could make out anything, a voice rang out through the hallway.
It was the face of the powerful lady I’ve seen for years in the lab. Except this time, she was sobbing with four other security guys holding her down. A lady with a grim complexion reached out and stuck a needle on her arm. Her body started to shake violently. It was almost as if something was inside of her, small lumps were moving around her body faster and faster until suddenly, she started to look like me.
Her metamorphosis didn’t take long. When the lady saw her own reflection in the mirror, her expression was left horrified. It was the kind of face that wanted to die.
Under the scars and burns and lumps of her old face, emerged the face of a woman with fair skin, a defined jawline, and a warm look on her eyes. I had no hopes of ever escaping my isolation, but there she was. My Eve.
But that was before she grabbed the nearest pair of medical scissors and rammed it between her eyes until it killed her.
That was enough for me to finally snap and run. She was the first person to ever look like me and share my complexion. But life had never been this cruel and unforgiving, that it would kill off any glimpse of connection I had with the rest of the world, and any glimpse of beauty that I can acknowledge without feeling out of place.
I ran outside the building towards the trees as fast as I could. The guards pursued me until I hid in a tiny cave by the oceanside near the edge of the forest. When I left I only took the things that were closest to me: a piece of paper, a small surgical blade, and a broken pencil. Why did she have to die?
MARY
Twenty minutes ago, I succeeded in the first ever human trial of the poison that will turn someone into the devil.
This was a medical revolution. Twenty minutes ago, the Monster also ran away. And in those same veins, I had lost my most prized possession that would lead me to the doors of power and fame.
HIM
Looking at my own reflection from the blade, I saw the scars on my right cheek and came to a harsh realization—that this entire situation wouldn't have happened, if I was born correctly. If only I didn’t look the way I did, all of this could have been prevented.
My looks were the only constant to all my misery, and it needed to stop. I was the problem. I wanted to take off my face. So I scratched it intensely until I was covered in blood. But soon after the blood would dry, I found my efforts were in vain. I continued to scratch it with a nearby rock next to me, I scratched it with the knife, and I scratched it with my fingers. I wanted to delete any semblance of an identity I had, that reminded me of me.
I was soon spotted and forced to run again. It must have been my injuries or my fatigue that overwhelmed me, because the next thing I knew, I was on the ground with my head cracked open from a fatal collision. My body was numb and my vision was starting to blur. Bleeding out, I realized the irony of my situation and I laughed. In my final breaths, I realized that I looked like them now. I could finally fit in after all. But it was too late—I could feel my consciousness slipping. Perhaps I could have a chance for love in the next life.
MARY
News of his death hit me like a rock to the head. The next morning, a headline read “SATAN DEAD, BEAUTIFUL AT LAST,” and the world continued on. The world went back to its unforgiving yet forgetful way of existing, a world where it was a sin to be beautiful.
Whether or not he was a medical anomaly or a lab-made Frankenstein was unclear. As far as the world knew, he was first found in a random hospital bathroom without any parents or any sign of origin. When the doctors found him, they believed he wasn’t human—they were sure of it. But when a DNA test proved that he was indeed a human being, an infant at that, the doctors were resigned with disbelief.
The first few days of his discovery were tumultuous at best. For days, every major media outlet cried out the same word: Monster. Monster was the closest description of his body—something so foreign and disturbing, that even the media couldn't put a name to the diabolical absurdity of his appearance.
His skin was just too smooth, and his face too proportional.
I remember the day he was born. I watched the news broadcaster cry out the words “SATAN’S HERE!” as the Monster was stuffed in a cage by the military. But despite the cruelty and the chaos imposed upon this small creature, I was happy.
That was before I received a phone call yesterday. The call was about an explosion near the lab he was held in. An “assassination attempt.” But there really was no way of knowing at that time.
My mind was boiling as I zoned in and out of the conversation, with a mix of emotions coursing through my veins. She was in charge of security. Why did she fail?
A deformity in his face meant that there could be a possible difficulty in the experiments. But I needed him to keep being a Monster. I needed his smooth, proportional, and tall-nosed face to be just like that.
HIM
It was too quick to remember, but not too sudden to forget the look on the man’s face when he threw that bomb at me. Waking up in the hospital room, I overheard a conversation between two security guards standing outside. But before I could make out anything, a voice rang out through the hallway.
It was the face of the powerful lady I’ve seen for years in the lab. Except this time, she was sobbing with four other security guys holding her down. A lady with a grim complexion reached out and stuck a needle on her arm. Her body started to shake violently. It was almost as if something was inside of her, small lumps were moving around her body faster and faster until suddenly, she started to look like me.
Her metamorphosis didn’t take long. When the lady saw her own reflection in the mirror, her expression was left horrified. It was the kind of face that wanted to die.
Under the scars and burns and lumps of her old face, emerged the face of a woman with fair skin, a defined jawline, and a warm look on her eyes. I had no hopes of ever escaping my isolation, but there she was. My Eve.
But that was before she grabbed the nearest pair of medical scissors and rammed it between her eyes until it killed her.
That was enough for me to finally snap and run. She was the first person to ever look like me and share my complexion. But life had never been this cruel and unforgiving, that it would kill off any glimpse of connection I had with the rest of the world, and any glimpse of beauty that I can acknowledge without feeling out of place.
I ran outside the building towards the trees as fast as I could. The guards pursued me until I hid in a tiny cave by the oceanside near the edge of the forest. When I left I only took the things that were closest to me: a piece of paper, a small surgical blade, and a broken pencil. Why did she have to die?
MARY
Twenty minutes ago, I succeeded in the first ever human trial of the poison that will turn someone into the devil.
This was a medical revolution. Twenty minutes ago, the Monster also ran away. And in those same veins, I had lost my most prized possession that would lead me to the doors of power and fame.
HIM
Looking at my own reflection from the blade, I saw the scars on my right cheek and came to a harsh realization—that this entire situation wouldn't have happened, if I was born correctly. If only I didn’t look the way I did, all of this could have been prevented.
My looks were the only constant to all my misery, and it needed to stop. I was the problem. I wanted to take off my face. So I scratched it intensely until I was covered in blood. But soon after the blood would dry, I found my efforts were in vain. I continued to scratch it with a nearby rock next to me, I scratched it with the knife, and I scratched it with my fingers. I wanted to delete any semblance of an identity I had, that reminded me of me.
I was soon spotted and forced to run again. It must have been my injuries or my fatigue that overwhelmed me, because the next thing I knew, I was on the ground with my head cracked open from a fatal collision. My body was numb and my vision was starting to blur. Bleeding out, I realized the irony of my situation and I laughed. In my final breaths, I realized that I looked like them now. I could finally fit in after all. But it was too late—I could feel my consciousness slipping. Perhaps I could have a chance for love in the next life.
MARY
News of his death hit me like a rock to the head. The next morning, a headline read “SATAN DEAD, BEAUTIFUL AT LAST,” and the world continued on. The world went back to its unforgiving yet forgetful way of existing, a world where it was a sin to be beautiful.
Writer's Statement: This is a 1000-worded story. "M" is a short story about a journey—a journey to happiness and beauty, in a crooked world where happiness is impossible for the main character.