Frankenstein Creative Writing

Aimee
I sit on a pile of crushed cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other, staring down at my phone. I hunch over as I hope for a phone call that I know will never come. I punch the numbers into the phone; I slowly exhale before hitting the dial button. The phone begins to ring. A crackling voice answers.
***
The dusty road had never seen asphalt. The uneven terrain tests the grip of the tyres. I drive carefully to keep the usually noisy Labradors in the back of the white ute asleep. The antenna waves around as the car swings from left to right. The sun looks to see where I am heading. I drove north-west, where the farm is located. I am selling the property; it is too much of a strain to keep maintained. I drive up the windy road that

The sun places a strange orange glow over the hopeless deaths from the cruel city created. I start sorting through the piles of different items. I look at the old movie player, choosing to take the unusual object down last. I check to see what was in the boxes before throwing them through the small hole on the floor, hitting the hallway below with a thud. My eyes are drawn towards a cardboard box already taped in the corner of the attic. I locate the heavy box to open space next to the window. Dust flies into the air as I peel off the duck-tape. My hands lift the lid of the box as I’m suddenly immersed with something foreign for so many years. I unearth family folders containing photos and letters collected and stored to gathering dust. I pick up a folder with brown leather casing, the family tree etched with gold lining displayed on the front cover. I open the book with a rich history of my family being revealed before me. Births, marriages, divorce, death, life. I feel the rough paper glossing my hands as I flick to the next page. A long reel of film is hidden in a plastic sleeve taped to the page. I take out the reel and observe each frame capturing a moment in time. I connect the reel to the old movie player in the attic. I flick the switch as the projector light hits the wall, showing the flickering pictures in slow motion. It’s me, as a child playing hide and seek with my mother. I stand behind a tree, my hands covering my face. I giggle as my mother runs around to catch me from behind. The grass stands strong as the flowers splash the garden with colour. What happened to my mother? Aimee. It’s a beautiful name meaning ‘to love’. And I still love her. She would understand,