[John Keats lies down in bed, eyes closed, ensconced in blankets. He tosses and turns until he finds a comfortable position, suddenly his eyes open.]
KEATS: “O soothest Sleep! If so it please thee, close / in midst of thine hymn my willing eyes. / Or wait the “Amen,” ere thy poppy throws / Around my bed its lulling charities.” For I am just a man, nay, a soul longing for a respite from the chaos wreaking havoc upon my innermost being. Sleep, my dearest friend, my lover, my embalmer, free me from my “curious conscious” so that I may become one at peace within the solace of your confines. [Lightning strikes and Keats’ room illuminates. Keats, startled, hastily jumps from his bed, face planting on his way out. Clothed in just a nightgown, he
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I'm sorry sir but your friend is dead, a victim at the hands of Mother Nature. Trust me for I have long studied the delicate balance of life and death, dedicating my existence to the wonders of natural philosophy. Instead of praise and glory, however, my ambitions have lead me to a life characterized by inescapable agony and guilt rendering me a shell of my former self. Me, the genius you see before you, once a child prodigy, now turned into a shriveling melancholy wretch all because of my quest for knowledge.
SHELLY: [softly whimpering] Oh Harold, once so lively an individual now motionless corpse rotting under this tumultuous weather. How God loves to tempt us with life and beauty yet in a moments notice rip everything away from us. “We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; / How restlessly they speed and gleam and quiver, / Streaking the darkness radiantly! yet soon /Night closes round, and they are lost forever”. [Shelly kneels down examining Harold’s blasted frame] Goodbye old friend, maybe in a moment's notice I too will join you for no one can predict the mutability of
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A towering 8-foot figure appears hunched over, furiously staring down victor. The seething monster sprints at victor, hatred in his eyes.]
FRANKENSTEIN: [furiously] “Devil...do you dare approach me? And do you fear the fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head? Begone vile insect!” [condescending] It was you, wasn't it, the cursed abomination who sent down the lighting which killed that man. You have once again murdered! Poor am I who bestowed life upon such a monster, a reject, a sorry excuse for a lifeform. For now I fear mankind. “ How they would, each and all, abhor me and hunt me from the world did they know my unhallowed acts and crimes which had their source in me”. [Shelley and Keats are dumbfounded. They remain paralyzed in fear trying to decipher the situation in front of