Die Doctor, Die!!!

The doctor stood tall. He was over 6ft 4” and he wore facial hair like a musketeer but he was not about saving anything. He was about taking life and prolonging death.
He spoke soft and slow and in a manner where he believed what he said.
I hate him with a passion.
He looked at me with love but not love for me but love for what he had created.
He loved the suffering of things.
His laboratory was filled with the whispers of the dead animals and cries and yelps of his subjects.

He deserved to die and whisper along with the rest.

Months I lingered away…time was not my enemy. He was.
I wish I videotaped his death like he did of all his countless subjects.
I stayed on his cattle for weeks after his death just watching him rot.
It may seem gruesome to you but you still have sense of smell and I do not.
He was a bad man and wanted the animals to feed of him…at least the ones that still lived past his torture
I let them loose and watched them tear things apart.
Art, furniture, clothes…..

And then I opened the door and let them have their freedom.
They never looked back.

Nor will I

The Escape

Months went by and I was literally a guinea  pig to the crazed doctor.

He had no compassion for me or anything.

I watched him hurt animals in the name of science and I wanted nothing more than to escape and hurt him.

I did not just want to kill him.

I wanted to make him hurt like he did the animals he had caged.

It is funny that I can feel anger but nothing else.

I suppose it is do to my heart being solid and unwilling to beat again.

A heart of stone.

Funny, I read about it in fairy tales with regard to the evil witch.

I guess that is what I am now.

Well, I don't know what I am but I do know....

I liked caging the scientist and making him plead for life for many days before letting him die alone in the same cage he liked to hold innocent other beings.

I do feel when I hurt those who deserve it.

It is as close as I can come to being human again.

The Doctor

There I was, stuck in a mad scientist’s cage. 

He had me. 
But I would eventually escape and so this is where the story starts and what needs to be told.

I could use a drink to tell this story. 

I miss drinking. 

Or more to the point, I miss the effects of drinking but as an undead, I miss many things.

I miss the taste of food. I miss the hunger for it. 

I miss drinking and the need for it when I used to feel.

I miss the thought of love and family.

I miss many things but most of all…

I miss my life.

The Blonde is not back but here.

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