I shall tell you the tale of a being from not- so-far away. This tale begins with a scientist. I shan’t tell you the name, for it is unimportant. This scientist had been working on a project that had failed for centuries. In fact, this was the attempt that changed it all.
It was a humid night. Sounds of clanking and buzzing were emitted from a drab-looking building in a corner. A corner so unworthy that people’s eyes practically skip across it and onto the supermarket next door. Inside, a scientist wipes his brow and reclines in his bright orange leather chair. He looks around in a manner of boredom. Buzzing lights blink on and off along the wall. A monitor is playing videos. Disturbing ones at that. The room is painted white, the walls starting to yellow, crack and peel. The door is creaky wood, echoing like a haunted stairwell. However, in the main part of the room, a large sphere sits dormant, the suspense almost bursting it. There are large tubes hanging from it in all directions, and it is filled with murky smoke. The gas inside sifts around like indecisive sand. Out of the blue, the machine shudders. It shakes. The glass begins to melt away. Out steps a sickly humanoid figure. In a haze of red worry, the scientist flees the scene, black shoes practically dragging him away. The thing trudges into a bathroom. It stares across into the magic metal, examining itself. Its skin is a smooth shade of sidewalk. Its hair is stringy auburn. There are torn rags of skin hanging off of it in several places. The thing has a singular quality that makes it quite a disgusting thing; a piece of flesh from its top lip had been fused onto the skin beneath its nose, creating a sort of sick mustache. Satisfied with itself, the thing pushes through the swinging door of the bathroom.
Several days later, it treks through the city. Half starved, it comes across a kind soul who takes the thing to a foster home. Days, weeks, even months go by. The thing is desperate to be like other children. Slowly, depression begins to swallow its vocabulary. Eventually, the only sound the thing is able to make is a low, gurgling, “murrr.”
About a year passes. Another day. The same ding of a possible guardian walking in to adopt. The same disgusted gag and rude sound when it passes the thing. Finally comes the thing’s saving grace. It comes in the form of an oblivious older couple. Jessie Nooshkins and Cherald Garey. Garey stumbles through the door, his pot-belly grazing the door-frame. He has a large, protuberant nose, small watery eyes, a thick neck, and a heart made of the purest gold you could ever find. Jessie is thin – a bean pole, filled with kindness just the same. She has long white hair, a few whiskers, and a love for maroon sweaters. Right away, the thing steels itself for another ego attack. It never comes. In a mashup of strange new sights, the thing is placed in a run-down car.
“I think we should call it… Jan!”
Happiness has come Jan’s way.