Poetry: Monster Behind The Silver Screen (After the novel by Mary Shelly, 1817 ) by Liana Tang

By Liana Tang

A holler.
The first lone call which split the silence,
Echoed by another,
And another,
They crescendo to a chorusing chant.
“A tale no longer
Stuck on page,
Reanimate us
On center stage!”

An executive scrawled lazy notes behind the scenes,
Shielded from the crystal voices,
Where there lay a corpse.
Blackout.

My limbs composed of rotting molds 
In a pigeonhole,
Peeling skin from burnt-out care.
All hastily strung together,
Worth not a dime nor time.

Suddenly,
The crew lifts the curtains
Lights shone on me,
As if lightning struck
And aligned with my heart.
Frozen veins thawed,
Boiling blood scampered
Throughout the body
Carrying the news 
As my eyes flung open.

“It’s alive!” 
The executive stood up,
Removing his glasses,
A flashy smile dangled on his face.

I rose
Foggy eyes swept the audience
Beyond the silver screen.
Some gaped, screaming,
Some ran away from the stage,
Blinded by the low resolution of flitting pictures.
But there were those who held pitchforks and stayed,
Ready to fight.

The executive spoke again.
He insisted,
“We gave it life!
We gave it breath!
What more do you need--”

Crack.
Fallen glass shards 
Scattered on the floor,
Crimson smeared at its edges.
Whispers ebbed,
“We don’t want a Frankenstein.”
And I was once again lost in darkness and distance.