Hiya!You know what its called, i dont own anything realated to edward, and uh, the characters that were not in the original story are owned by me... the raven was written by Edgar allen Poe
Suburbia. The houses were lined up perfectly, as they always had been since before Edward was...aware. He was not actually born, you see, and he could remember when he first heard the inventor's voice, old, scrachy, perhaps, but he loved it, being the first voice he heard when plunged out of his dark prison.
The eyes had come next, he was sure, and if hearing was anything, seeing was better, even with the wonderus music in the background. His wandering eye caught sight of the record player, and then on the inventors focused, lined face. And then that wrinkled hand placed something onto him, and lo and behold, he could see farther and clearer than ever before! He tryed to let out a scream, vocal cords were something no one should be deprived of, but no, the throat was still inder constuction, all he could let out was a sqeak.
"Ahh, yes," the inventor laughed, "you want to see yourself, yes?" A high eyebrow raised and the wrinkles gave way to a smile. He weeled a mirror over and chickled, as the new eyes saw themselves.
It looked like a grey skull with eyes, hooked up to some complex machinery. The inventor had to do this to make the system work. The sketches in the book had not intirely illustated what he planned to do.
The eyes watched him as he worked. He seemed not to be disturbed by them staring at him. "Thats it." The inventor said. "I'm worked to the bone. Good night Edward."
So that's who he was. Edward. He saw the inventor leaving and tried to scream again. He didn't manage a sqeak this time.
"Tsk, Tsk, Edward. Screaming will get you no where." The invetor smiled again, "Very well, if you insist, how about a bedtime story, huh?" these words seemed to calm the creature. He smiled wider, if such a thing was possible, knowing his program had worked. This is why Edward could understand english, while he did have a human brain, a tiny microchip was installed, as the inventor was very ahead of his time.
The inventor wandered though his expansive library, looking for a sutible title, a childrens book, with lots of pictures and color, however, at the last moment he thought better.
Edward had a fit without the inventor. He breathed heavy, blinked (the inventor was wise enough to install real eyelids before the eyes.) rapidly, but did not try to utter a sound, having remembered what the inventor told him.
"Calm down. I'm going to bed soon, and you must be getting sleepy, too. But you are a good boy, and a good boy deserves a good bedtime reading!" He held up a book, with a picture of a large black bird on it. "This book is entitled 'The Raven and Other Poems.' You must know who wrote the Raven, don't you?" The eyes darted about exitedly. "You don't? Why, Edgar Allen Poe, of course.
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."
He took a break here and drank some water. Damning himself because he would soon have to steal some body parts from that medical college soon. He took the materiels and fastened them into something new. The brain was something amazing ineed. He had taken several of them, and after a long and complicated proccess, figured out that brains do not preserve memory after death, instead, becoming much like a baby's brain, mantaining bodily functions, it was like new!
"' 'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more.'"
He had taken the best parts out of each brain, and fastened them, and installed.
"Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
"Nameless here forevermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
' 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This it is, and nothing more.'" He took a breath, about to begin again, when he feel asleep. Edward followed his example.
Suburbia. The houses were lined up perfectly, as they always had been since before Edward was...aware. He was not actually born, you see, and he could remember when he first heard the inventor's voice, old, scrachy, perhaps, but he loved it, being the first voice he heard when plunged out of his dark prison.
The eyes had come next, he was sure, and if hearing was anything, seeing was better, even with the wonderus music in the background. His wandering eye caught sight of the record player, and then on the inventors focused, lined face. And then that wrinkled hand placed something onto him, and lo and behold, he could see farther and clearer than ever before! He tryed to let out a scream, vocal cords were something no one should be deprived of, but no, the throat was still inder constuction, all he could let out was a sqeak.
"Ahh, yes," the inventor laughed, "you want to see yourself, yes?" A high eyebrow raised and the wrinkles gave way to a smile. He weeled a mirror over and chickled, as the new eyes saw themselves.
It looked like a grey skull with eyes, hooked up to some complex machinery. The inventor had to do this to make the system work. The sketches in the book had not intirely illustated what he planned to do.
The eyes watched him as he worked. He seemed not to be disturbed by them staring at him. "Thats it." The inventor said. "I'm worked to the bone. Good night Edward."
So that's who he was. Edward. He saw the inventor leaving and tried to scream again. He didn't manage a sqeak this time.
"Tsk, Tsk, Edward. Screaming will get you no where." The invetor smiled again, "Very well, if you insist, how about a bedtime story, huh?" these words seemed to calm the creature. He smiled wider, if such a thing was possible, knowing his program had worked. This is why Edward could understand english, while he did have a human brain, a tiny microchip was installed, as the inventor was very ahead of his time.
The inventor wandered though his expansive library, looking for a sutible title, a childrens book, with lots of pictures and color, however, at the last moment he thought better.
Edward had a fit without the inventor. He breathed heavy, blinked (the inventor was wise enough to install real eyelids before the eyes.) rapidly, but did not try to utter a sound, having remembered what the inventor told him.
"Calm down. I'm going to bed soon, and you must be getting sleepy, too. But you are a good boy, and a good boy deserves a good bedtime reading!" He held up a book, with a picture of a large black bird on it. "This book is entitled 'The Raven and Other Poems.' You must know who wrote the Raven, don't you?" The eyes darted about exitedly. "You don't? Why, Edgar Allen Poe, of course.
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."
He took a break here and drank some water. Damning himself because he would soon have to steal some body parts from that medical college soon. He took the materiels and fastened them into something new. The brain was something amazing ineed. He had taken several of them, and after a long and complicated proccess, figured out that brains do not preserve memory after death, instead, becoming much like a baby's brain, mantaining bodily functions, it was like new!
"' 'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more.'"
He had taken the best parts out of each brain, and fastened them, and installed.
"Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
"Nameless here forevermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
' 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This it is, and nothing more.'" He took a breath, about to begin again, when he feel asleep. Edward followed his example.