My Creator

Creator thought I was useless. He believed I was a failure. The moment I came to life, and my left eye fell from my face, my legs breaking with every step, he decided he had to remake and decide again on the fabric of his blueprints. He wanted to create something perfect. Something that made man look like a prototype. But that was his problem. Man was the prototype. He based perfection on that exact thing which even he admitted to be wholly imperfect. And yes, I did not need two eyes, nor legs to walk on; but he saw that as a setback, as it was something unlike man. Essentially, he was trying to create himself, the one perfect man.

Now, do not believe I am in disagreement with this notion. I know Creator to be perfect, and I do agree with his narcissistic beliefs of being the only man of this denomination. That may sound a paradox, a man being narcissistic, a flaw in the eyes of many, and being perfect, meaning flawless. But rather than a contradiction, in truth it is a natural progression. How could one be the only perfect human and not value themself as fit? For someone who is already perfect, anything seen as a flaw is only that to the masses, while for him, on his infinitely higher pedestal, it means much greater things than simply “being a narcissist, one who is so obsessed with themselves they neglect all others”. Another point on that matter: how should Creator have any care for others when he is the most important. If the truth is as many believe, that the goal of the lives humans are given is to perfect oneself, then why should Creator, the only person in history to have achieved this, waste his time on any sort of imperfections.

With all this introduction, I assume you now know Creator’s motivations. He couldn’t occupy himself with other people, the imperfects, so he needed to dedicate his life to things like himself. A perfect diet, a perfect schedule, a perfect place of living, and a perfect work. The work of his life, a very important question most people don’t even truly ask themselves. One’s occupation is something which they must toil over to decide. It is essentially their sole purpose of life, their contribution to the world in their limited time on this earth. For many, who have not exactly finished their own self, to extend themselves to a purpose in the rest of the world is a task that would require an amount of thinking far too great for them to reach. His, though, was a simple thought. It was clear what he was meant to do; a perfect man, one whose being needs no more work, so he must work on another being.

He began as a teacher, trying to help the young people to be like him as they grew. He knew everything the children needed, which was everything he had, but for whatever reason, these children refused to take what he gave them. They must not have realized how great this incredible knowledge he was handing out to them was, and in time, after making the same attempts in a university, the adults proved even less willing and more foolish than those just beginning to understand principles they claim to have learned, began searching for a new way to fulfill that purpose to inspire perfection akin to himself, bettering the world and those in it. This whole ordeal was a fast process. He was able to acquire these positions as he was very well learned, and very well respected in the world he occupied.

He now, because of his perfected intellect, was quickly able to find the root of his problems, which is that another being, another human who would and had lived in this world of other imperfect humans, could not become like him, who was what he was now since birth. He concluded that he is, in fact, beyond human.

Again, the knowledge of Creator I have given you is sufficient enough for an accurate assumption of his life’s endeavors. He needed to create life such as himself, something with all the components of a human: thought, consciousness, communication; and something with all these things to the exceptional extent, or as he put it, to its truest form.

Thus he began his endeavor. He started by finding the most perfect parts of the most perfect beings. Examples being the sight of eagles, the smelling of an elephant, and the inner workings of the hearing process of the greater wax moth. He did not take any of the parts directly from just one of any of these animals, as they were all of varying shapes and sizes, but instead took many parts from many subjects and culminated them together to create an ultimate being; one that could accomplish any goal in its g-d’s intended way. Every component was perfectly put together to create this being, there was only one thing that could baffle him.

What is it that gives life? Is it some internal mechanism? Some sort of scientific process which creates the inner workings of the mind? How do we think? He came to the quick solution to this problem, the fact of life that scientists many before him had refused to accept, should there be some far more complicated, physically tangible cause and effect for the processes of a creature’s intellect: It is imbued. Something of a soul resides in living beings, perhaps not all, as the animal’s brains could only make decisions which require instinct, rather than a thought process which leads to a calculated decision; but in a human this soul type thing, which he called that for convenience, though his beliefs may have been different from tradition, this thing was what differentiated those with thought, rather than simply action.

I was the product of all these things. He put into me the body of a human child who was on the verge of passing. It lay at the center of my body, to control all decisions I would make. Of course this child was also not just a whim of a decision; it had a mind far larger and greater in ability than even its parents; it was too strong for its own body. He believed it should merge with my parts in order to control them from its vaster awareness of being, and began to give me life.

A giant mechanism, the likes of which I couldn’t imagine to understand, had a large lever which he swung down with one grandiose pull. Sparks and flashes shot throughout the room, lights flickered and flashed, all his jars and parts lining the shelves fell over and shattered on the floor. Everything was a mess from this machine which shook the entire room, looking as though it could jump from where it stood at any moment, attached by strings of wires strung across the walls leading to my bed. Minutes and hours passed, until finally the mechanism stopped, multiple lines of smoke emanating from all its crevices; it had exploded internally, and could not be used for what seemed like years to repair, having it taken that long to build. I felt a sensation in my fingers, a strange tingling feeling. I could move. My legs began to shake, I wanted to walk. My ear tunnels opened, I had no actual ears, only the mechanism, and I began to hear Creator’s laugh, his genius being proven. My nostrils began taking in every smell in the room. It was the most disgusting thing a human being could possibly experience, however I could handle it, and in fact enjoyed the stench of his laboratory. My eyes turned, I saw him. In that first moment I completely understood his greatness, the being that transcends the entire world, and me being his creation. I immediately knew my purpose: to serve him. We were going to work together to create even more beings like us, more perfect beings, and I needed to start immediately; a perfect being wastes no time and waits for nothing, immediate action is the only option.

I rose from my birth bed, my beautifully formed legs combined from a kangaroo, a cheetah, and an elephant, which helped me to raise myself from the bed with the greatest ease and pleasure. As I moved closer to him, my body continued his vision, further perfecting itself. Although these legs were formed with very close care, my body knew it would hinder me from what he desired. To have something so large would hinder my physical abilities; I should be as small as possible in order to go anywhere I pleased, so they began to crumble. They fell in on themselves, creating a more singular, more concrete figure. They began to look like a human leg, much like what he had. I approached him, and as I enclosed on him, my eyes, which were stronger than any other being, too turned themselves closer to his vision. A man should only have so much to see, for what if he sees what he would wish not to? An eagle has sight for exactly its purpose. It needs to see predator or prey from far away, creating a plan of action relating to whatever it may be approaching him, whether he should approach as well or escape. My left eye saw too much, and when I saw out the small window by the wall further from me, I could see the eye of another with sight that rivaled mine, seeking me out as I did it. My body knew this would take away from Creator’s vision, giving me all unnecessary distractions, and making me unable to focus on that in front of me. It took action, and got rid of this hindering eye, in order that I should have only the one, with only half as much to distract me.

My body continued perfecting, and it would be only a matter of time until I could serve he who serves all. But he stopped me. He ran from me in fear, believing he had created an abomination. He took a large metal pole which connects to the machine and bashed me on the head with it. My body did not feel much pain, but I knew what he wanted from me. Should I not retreat upon his striking me I would be a failure to his command, so I did exactly that. My body was in this process of forming itself, and perhaps he was only striking me to assist? It had taken on this grotesque malleable form, and with each strike it changed my appearance and physicality. Again and again he hit me, until I was a one-eyed, lopsided creature. My head was misshapen, like an egg beaten on one side, my back extending behind me, forcing me to carry its weight, while the rest of my body was frail and barely able to hold itself. My limbs had fallen in on themselves, and my hands, the hands of a monkey, had fingers pushed back into it and the hair had fallen off. All of my hair had either detached itself from me or reformed in the worst places. I was a mess. Because he had struck my face, my remaining eye had been hit inside me, and there was only a strange formation in the right side of my face, making me unable to see. I searched on the floor and saw my left eye had been stepped on by my almost single, breaking off at the end, leg. I picked it up and stuck it back into the large opening in my face left from it. Because it had been crushed it flattened out to a giant size, looking more like a large melon than an eye. My mouth had teeth, those of the limpet snail, either fallen out or stabbed back into my gums and tongue. I spoke for the first time to Creator, and my voice was horrific.

“Master.” It sounded like a bee was stuck in my throat, buzzing as I spoke, and pulling on my vocal chords to change the pitch of each syllable. I spit out a ghastly amount each time my mouth opened, the teeth lodged into my tongue giving me no control over it, it being practically a gamble with each word as to whether it would be pronounced correctly. I shook and shuddered, my skin which had been a combination from various whales and reptiles had now reformed on itself, making me extremely sensitive to the cold and all the physical elements in this tiny laboratory. I called him this word because that is what he called himself as I awoke. He told me that was who he was, and I understood.

He continued to berate me and yell at me for being disgusting and ugly and imperfect. He hated me for being this thing far from what he had ever imagined, or what he knew a perfect being could be. I was nothing like him.

I tried to speak to him again. “Master. You have created me.” I reminded him, perhaps exciting his sympathy, but he simply yelled at me continuously, telling me I should fall and die where I stood. “Please, Master.” He begged me to stop speaking. He claimed it was disgusting; a creature like me should not be allowed speech.

“DIE, CREATURE! DIE!”

These were the words he repeated over and over to me. I understood them, and knew exactly what he wanted of me, as well as why. But I was motivated to fulfill my purpose, and explained to him, “Master! I have been created to serve you! Please let me do so!” He simply cringed at my existence; he would not have my living, and could only be satisfied with my leaving him. But being my creator, he knew I could not be destroyed, and could tell I would not be entreated to leave him. He let me stay, but would not speak a single word to me, no matter how much I tried speaking to him.

Over the next three days, I stood in the corner covered by a cloth to hide my hideousness, watching over Creator working at remaking his entire laboratory, while still researching what went wrong with his science. All I did in this time, after acknowledging he would never acknowledge me, was sob. I cried and cried every day, as I had been created, but could not fulfill the purpose of my creation. I could only watch Creator struggle and toil at this task that puzzled him so. Had he not given me a soul, I would not at all feel this way.

On the fourth day of my life, when my tears were still nowhere near spent, I watched him struggle greatly over an equation that baffled him more than any other, while still in the process of rebuilding his destroyed laboratory and reacquiring his lost items. All these things would take years to redo, and my pain was equal, if not greater, to his from this terrible situation.

He looked at me, the noise of my sobs finally sufficiently annoying him, “Creature, why is it that you sob?”

“Because, Master, I seek to serve you but you do not allow me, stripping both me and yourself from great fortune, condemning us to undue strife.”

“Is that why? Not because you are a worthless being, and one that should be wiped from the face of the earth?”

I looked into his eyes with my much less attractive ones, “No, Master. Because I have a worth, and that is you.”

He thought to himself for a moment, then came across a realization. One that I had been trying to entreat him to for four days. “You mean you seek to serve me? And should I ask your assistance you would do every task I would possibly request?” I jumped up at the mention. The only want in my life. That was exactly what I meant! Oh, Creator, your emotional intellect only could understand what I so desperately wanted to communicate to you.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” If I could I would have been jumping at the joy of his realization.

“Fine.” He said. “Could you go into the town and fetch me this list of things.” He handed me a piece of paper which I was able to read with the superior brain he had given me.

“Of course, Master.” And I soon began out of the room.

He stopped me before I left, “But keep your cloak. The townspeople should not see you, and should not know where you come from.” And so I conceded. “And what shall I call you, creature? All living beings should have a name.”

I again began to break into tears at his great benevolence, no other human could be so kind to a creature such as me. Through these tears which streamed down my misshapen face, I told him, “I have thought of this deeply and thoughtfully. Just as you with yours, all living things should have a title of sorts. And I, in my position, a filthy being protected by a benevolent man such as you, I have found the perfect name for myself.”

He begged my divulgence, “What is this title?”

I instantly did as he wished, this being his first command to me, to give over my name.

“Igor.”