Flash Fiction – prompt is Frankenstein’s Wish

Dr Frankenstein goes a’courting.

“Seriously Victor, did you really think it would impress me?”

Actually Victor had, a sentiment he attempted to eloquate to Elizabeth.

“But my darling I have worked for so many months, at every hour of the day to create life afresh where there was none, to resurrect the spirit from the grave, to bring back the dead! And all for you my darling,” he beseeched.

Elizabeth regarded the creature that sat awkwardly on one of Victor’s dining room chairs.

“It’s ugly.”

The monster, due to Victor’s less than celebatory sewing skills, was unable to form much of an expression but there was, Victor thought, a gleam of hurt in his one eye.

“And it smells.”

“Maybe a little,” conceded Victory through the almost visible pong. “But that is because I was unable to secure a living specimen to fashion him from. Apparently that would constitute a ‘murder’ or so I am informed. I had no choice but to use the newly dead for his components.”

“Ewwww,” winced Mary and then after a moments pause dared to enquire, “Where did you get them from?”

“I’m sorry my darling?”

“The components for this thing Victor!”

“Oh. I have a contact at the prison.”

“The prison???”

“Yes, he retrieves the newly dead from the gallows for me.”

“What????”

“But Elizabeth my dear there is no need to fret. He keeps them refrigerated for me. There’s no danger of purification for at least another 72 hours.”

“Let me get this straight, Victor Frankenstein. The present you have brought me for my birthday is a zombie convict who is likely to melt into a puddle of putrid liquid by the end of the week?”

Put like that Victor was forced to recognise that he probably should have followed his first instinct and brought her a bunch of flowers.

“Oh you really are the pits!”

And she flounced out with a swirl of her crinoline.

Victor sagged onto the chair. The monster reached over and put a scaly, rotting hand round him, patting Victor’s shoulder consolingly. over his

Victor leaned into him. “Thanks mate. I appreciate it.”

At least it hadn’t gone as badly as the time he’d given Dorothy Mileau a white mouse with a human ear sewn onto it for Christmas.

She’d squealed throwing Monty the Mouse into the air. Monty disappearing down a drain whilst Victor was distracted by Dorothy’s bashing parasol.

Women! Why could he never get it right with them?

At this rate he would never receive his dearest wish; to lose his virginity.