Pendell

"Man... Is that what you call me?" chided the monster, looming in the chill darkness of the night, silhouetted only by starlight beyond. With deliberate and impactful footfalls, he strode nearer to me that his features, grotesque in their crude simplicity, became all of the focus of my attention.

"Must all men shun the light of the sun, and the warmth of simple comfort? Waif I am, or abomination, but I am no man. Just a mad curiosity, dream't into being by idiot gods!" The fury in his otherwise lifeless eyes flashed as though they were burning coals, and as his rudimentary mouth gave it's testimony, I could only wonder how such a misshapen creation could speak with such clarity and eloquence.

"To understand what I truly am, one must understand the very nature of humanity's hubris; that for fear of their own mortality, or the existence of divine limitations, men continually endeavor to create new life, but by their selfish and pitiless nature they abandon all to hastened fates." The beast spoke with grim finality, his words in all senses a condemnation of creation.

Though I was afeared, the creature's words struck me true. In symbolic ways, he was meant to be a reflection of his makers. Careless or cruel then that they should build a life so fragile that the warm breath of a companion might do him harm. And downright insulting that to his ersatz lip, they had affixed a tobacco pipe which never could he stoke...

Excerpted from "The Man They Made," Anger, 1823.

this goes so hard, is it ok if I screenshot?