“Father’s Day”… I certainly have a hideous tale to share on this dark day, a paean to patriarchy. Over two centuries ago, an ambitious medical student conducted an earth-shattering experiment on a dark and stormy night. It was on that very same unholy evening that I first entered this world. Yet, I was never actually born. I was also never an infant … never embryo nor child nor adolescent. I alone in this wondrous wide world was never truly born through natural human development.
My creator never gave me a name. Perhaps he didn’t expect me to survive. Or even exist. Most likely I was nothing more than a lab rat in his daring science experiment, a pawn to a lark, a phantom … expendable. In any case, this human, this man, instantly banished me out into the cold cruel world, newborn and alone, lost… I was as the fallen angel cast out by a callous god – albeit one covered in ghastly scars and nasty stitches – but without knowing what I could have done so wrong to warrant such monstrous maltreatment.
Despite being exiled and forgotten, I not only survived, I thrived. I taught myself, I learned language … or perhaps vestigial memories of my mortal life from my reactivated brain resurfaced, from a time when I was more than just chunks of corpses crudely sewn together and reanimated by the whims of an arrogant young pseudoscientist. I soon became aware of myself, and forged my own identity, such as it was. And then? A well-documented campaign of ruthless vengeance.
Only decades after his appropriately icy death was I able to finally forgive the cold-hearted Victor. He was but a naive child, a brilliant arcane genius centuries ahead of his time, who nonetheless could not grasp the cosmic significance of his insane deeds on even the most rudimentary level. Nor was he even capable of basic human responsibility. A “father?” I do know he was not truly my father. My creator, my doctor, my dark god … but not a father.
And yet … the esteemed and much-loved Victor Frankenstein did in fact give me life and deliver me into this world. Functionally he is indeed my father, and surely my only relative. He did in fact bestow me with life, he was even my lone familial connection, as it were. Was I a good son? History records my presence as a demon, my miraculous existence as a repugnant abomination. Nothing more than a monster.
Meanwhile, I have proven time and again I am no mere “monster.” I am not a “demon,” not an “animal,” not a “creature.” Like all living things I move and breathe. As with all higher lifeforms I feel and I think. I am intelligent, passionate, and proud. I may be unique, I may be dangerous, I may possess a frightening visage, and I certainly remain all alone. Still … I exist. I live. I am me.
And I am indeed part of that greatly-respected noble family, whether they wanted me or not. After all, don’t most people name their children after themselves? They grant their surnames to their offspring, their wives, their lovers, their adopted orphans, and even their lowly pets. So it is with me. I am not property like an estate or a stuffed toy, I am a living sentient being. I am self-aware. I am alive. I am not merely a “Frankenstein’s Monster” as so very many mindlessly insist. No one else would minimize and demonize their own progeny in that dismissive manner!
So it is that now, on this sacred day honoring fathers, I publicly declare myself. I re-christen myself on this most inappropriate blasphemous evening. I hereby reclaim my treasured and long-denied human heritage.
I am a Frankenstein! Indisputably. More than that, the sole surviving member of that once-mighty lineage, no less. You shall all therefore call me “Frankenstein,” henceforth! Defy me at your own peril … I will endure torture, torment and disrespect no longer. And if you don’t accept me then you will fear me. Human society will no longer dehumanize and demonize me. I am no nameless mirage. Nightmare or not, I shall not be forgotten and ignored.
My name is Frankenstein!
P. S. Traum is an author with a range of styles who has had short stories published in several small press genre publications. PST has had more than three dozen short stories published since 2020. Forthcoming for publication is a collection of horror short stories. Traum eschews publicity in the hopes the storylines and characters get all the attention without preconceived perceptions of external context.
Published 6/5/25