Steven Hunley
03-30-2017, 07:41 PM
Dr. Frankenstein Rothschild and the Automaton
Chapter One-
Building The Perfect Beast
In our last episode, the good doctor had to light out to somewhere in Mexico, where he could continue his experiments in peace. He’d been hounded out of our nation’s capital right after the meeting of The American Association of Psychiatrists, where he made public the findings declaring the president unfit for office. Trump took it hard. His Fascist Thought Police headed by Bannon chased the good doctor right over the wall, but lost him somewhere in Yucatan. Now our good doctor is holed up in a cheap hotel about a mile from the Palenque Ruins in Chiapas.
The doctor stepped away from his creation and tried to wait, but anxiety was no friend to the Doctor. He was no good at waiting.
Outside the sliding glass door to the balcony inky thunderclouds crowded the sky. Then came streaks of forked lighting, followed so closely by thunder, it sounded like canon fire, and shook every leaf in every tree for miles around. The windows trembled wildly with their report, and the air was as hot and sweaty as a tea kettle. He wiped his brows, and when he saw sweat on his fingers it hit him.
'Am I capable of performing the experiment alone? This hotel room isn't a proper laboratory. This could go terribly wrong.'
He approached the bed with reverence, his aluminum alloy Halliburton case stacked on top like an alter designed by American Tourister. Its wires ran all over the place and down into the body. He reached for the human-like form to check its temperature. Lightning flashed through the window, flooding the room with white light just as his finger tip touched the automaton. It was more than just warmth.
It was the spark of creation.
“It’s alive,” he whimpered like a dog, and drew back his finger. “I will have my revenge!”
He turned away, his breathing irregular. He chanted the magic Collin Clive phrase again,
“It’s alive!”
Then his hands became nervous shaking hands, and he didn’t know what to do with them. Ether and toxic cooking resins permeated the room. The spark generator hummed and crackled when he pumped the pedals on the stationary bicycle. It was getting too much to bear. He couldn’t stand breathing suffocating toxic vapors for long. Grabbing the handle of the sliding glass door, he threw it open.
Serious thunder boomed like a howitzer, forked lightning slashed, tearing at the dark clouds, rending them asunder. Savage rivulets of rain ran in torrents down his face, creeping down his body like a family of vicious anacondas.
He faced the seething sky, and announced to the heavens, just as the lightning struck,
“It’s alive!” he petitioned the Gods of Thunder and Lightning, “Alive! Do you hear me? Alive!”
He liked being a dramatic fool at times, the doctor did. He’d spent his entire career as an undiscovered head-shrinker before he took a position as leader of the committee. Now, thanks to Trump, it had all gone wrong. Run out of his own country for speaking the truth.
“That 1931 monster maker has nothing on me,” he proclaimed, and calmly walked back inside.
He fell to the floor laughing, rolled over on his back and tilted his head until he could see out the window. The clouds rushing past with reckless abandon were running out of steam.The lightning appeared smaller and more distant. The interval between thunder and lightning grew longer, indicating the storm was heading away.
His plan was only half finished, and the demon? The demon was disguised as a plastic toy and looked human. It was locked between the layers of resin in the blocks, and was controlled for now. What would happen when it was released state-side and let loose in the capital as part of the doctor’s revenge scheme could only be dreamed of.
The good doctor would be the last to know because right now he was asleep on the floor and wasn’t dreaming at all. While Frankenstein Rothschild slept soundly, the storm headed north. His deadly Golem imprisoned in the resin would soon be heading north too.
Either way, the northeast was due for some political changes, and Dr. Frankenstein Rothschild was to be their epicenter.
***
İStevenHunley2017
https://youtu.be/1qNeGSJaQ9Q It’s Alive- Frankenstein 1931
Chapter One-
Building The Perfect Beast
In our last episode, the good doctor had to light out to somewhere in Mexico, where he could continue his experiments in peace. He’d been hounded out of our nation’s capital right after the meeting of The American Association of Psychiatrists, where he made public the findings declaring the president unfit for office. Trump took it hard. His Fascist Thought Police headed by Bannon chased the good doctor right over the wall, but lost him somewhere in Yucatan. Now our good doctor is holed up in a cheap hotel about a mile from the Palenque Ruins in Chiapas.
The doctor stepped away from his creation and tried to wait, but anxiety was no friend to the Doctor. He was no good at waiting.
Outside the sliding glass door to the balcony inky thunderclouds crowded the sky. Then came streaks of forked lighting, followed so closely by thunder, it sounded like canon fire, and shook every leaf in every tree for miles around. The windows trembled wildly with their report, and the air was as hot and sweaty as a tea kettle. He wiped his brows, and when he saw sweat on his fingers it hit him.
'Am I capable of performing the experiment alone? This hotel room isn't a proper laboratory. This could go terribly wrong.'
He approached the bed with reverence, his aluminum alloy Halliburton case stacked on top like an alter designed by American Tourister. Its wires ran all over the place and down into the body. He reached for the human-like form to check its temperature. Lightning flashed through the window, flooding the room with white light just as his finger tip touched the automaton. It was more than just warmth.
It was the spark of creation.
“It’s alive,” he whimpered like a dog, and drew back his finger. “I will have my revenge!”
He turned away, his breathing irregular. He chanted the magic Collin Clive phrase again,
“It’s alive!”
Then his hands became nervous shaking hands, and he didn’t know what to do with them. Ether and toxic cooking resins permeated the room. The spark generator hummed and crackled when he pumped the pedals on the stationary bicycle. It was getting too much to bear. He couldn’t stand breathing suffocating toxic vapors for long. Grabbing the handle of the sliding glass door, he threw it open.
Serious thunder boomed like a howitzer, forked lightning slashed, tearing at the dark clouds, rending them asunder. Savage rivulets of rain ran in torrents down his face, creeping down his body like a family of vicious anacondas.
He faced the seething sky, and announced to the heavens, just as the lightning struck,
“It’s alive!” he petitioned the Gods of Thunder and Lightning, “Alive! Do you hear me? Alive!”
He liked being a dramatic fool at times, the doctor did. He’d spent his entire career as an undiscovered head-shrinker before he took a position as leader of the committee. Now, thanks to Trump, it had all gone wrong. Run out of his own country for speaking the truth.
“That 1931 monster maker has nothing on me,” he proclaimed, and calmly walked back inside.
He fell to the floor laughing, rolled over on his back and tilted his head until he could see out the window. The clouds rushing past with reckless abandon were running out of steam.The lightning appeared smaller and more distant. The interval between thunder and lightning grew longer, indicating the storm was heading away.
His plan was only half finished, and the demon? The demon was disguised as a plastic toy and looked human. It was locked between the layers of resin in the blocks, and was controlled for now. What would happen when it was released state-side and let loose in the capital as part of the doctor’s revenge scheme could only be dreamed of.
The good doctor would be the last to know because right now he was asleep on the floor and wasn’t dreaming at all. While Frankenstein Rothschild slept soundly, the storm headed north. His deadly Golem imprisoned in the resin would soon be heading north too.
Either way, the northeast was due for some political changes, and Dr. Frankenstein Rothschild was to be their epicenter.
***
İStevenHunley2017
https://youtu.be/1qNeGSJaQ9Q It’s Alive- Frankenstein 1931