Diary of Heironymous Brightman

June 15, 1969

It's been five years today since the funeral. Though she goes with God, my Emma is still with me. Every night she comes to me in my dreams. Always whispering in my ear. Sometimes I feel she still lies next to me in sleep.

I miss her so much. She was the perfect muse. Ideas blossomed in my head right and left when Emma was around. There was nothing I couldn't invent.
Now my mind is empty.

All day I busy myself with the cookie press. Its just about the only thing that gives me pleasure anymore. The elaborate machines I'd slaved to create bear testimate to more prosperous times.

Not only did they grant me financial success, they helped turn Emma Francis Howe into Mrs. Heironymous Brightman. Her eyes moistened at the sight of the ring perched on her favorite heart-shaped cookie.

From that day onward, Emma was mine forever. June 25, 1969

I had the most curious dream.

I saw myself gazing at the portrait of a handsome young man. His features eerily similar to me at that age. Though our faces were the same, there was still something different about the boy.

He also shared the likeness of my dear Emma.
His face delicately formed with dark soulful eyes, high cheek bones and an elegant mouth. A rich crop of long black hair flowed to his shoulders, framing his beautiful face.

I was looking into the eyes of my son. The one thing I desired but could never have. Alas our house could never be blessed with the sound of children.

Later-

My doldrum days are over!

The press was turning out a fresh batch sugar cookies when it happened. Along with the baked goods, the cutter-bots were slicing stalks of celery for soup.

I always had a soft spot for my cutter-bots. These faceless mechanical creatures were created during a time when I had very little supplies.
Instead of proper blades, their cleavers are made from old scissors and pinking shears.

As I held a heart-shaped cookie before the cutter-bot, something wonderful bloomed in my mind. Something that had never been accomplished outside the world of fiction.
I would create a human!

I returned to the sanctity of my work table. Much of my equipment was covered in dust.
Damn that inspiration block!

For weeks I labored over my many books. "Grey's Anatomy" became my bible. If I were to create organs and blood vessels with my own hands, I had to completely immerse myself in study.

July 13th, 1969
7:10 am

The heart came easier than expected. A spare pump mechanism for the bellowed oven was all I needed. After a few alterations, it could beat on its own.

Rubber tubing took the form of veins and arteries for my special imitation blood. This concoction of chemicals will act as a lubricant and coolant for my boy's internal mechanics.

I have to admit I was at a loss about what to do for a digestive system. Not entirely a living thing, my creation would have no need to eat. But at the same time I wanted him to experience the taste of food.

It was clear the stomach would be very difficult.

July 29th, 1969
6:45 pm

Finally finished the stomach. I have the bellowed oven to thank for the inspiration. Because of its high temperatures, there's no need to clean it.
Any spare piece of food is instantly burned away to nothingness. Anything my boy ingested would be exposed to temperatures high enough to disintegrate it.

Naturally the stomach pouch was well insulated to avoid any damage to his internal structures.

August 2nd, 1969
12:30 pm

So much is being accomplished I forget to write. My boy is coming along just swimmingly. With his internal components nearly finished, I began work on the body.

Arms and legs had to be fashioned, along with a proper head. There is no face yet. Just a rough indentation for reference.
The brain is still very primitive. Its activity is limited to involuntary jerks and twitches.

6:15 pm

Spent alot of time on the brain. Motor reflexes are more refined. The limbs react when stimulated and shows signs of being able to hear. When he hears a loud noise, the arms fly out in a defensive posture.

Poor thing. To exist without stimuli and now completely surrounded by it.

August 5th, 1969
11:08 am

He is getting more accustomed to his surroundings. Noises don't bother him as much. He even reaches out in my direction when I talk.
A sure sign his brain is strengthening.

Yesterday he discovered my face.

I was surprised how gentle he was with his bladed hands. For a fear-filled moment, I thought he was slice me to ribbons.
After exploring my features, he searched for his own visage. He was terribly disturbed when he didn't find one.

I could've sworn I saw tears leak from his blank head.
"Don't worry" I soothed. "You'll have a face soon enough. Then you can see everything the world has to offer."

I do my best to stimulate his developing mind. Since he cannot see, I spend hours just talking to him. His fully articulated neck allows him to follow the sound of my voice.

Not finished and already so eager!

August 8th, 1969
10:43 am

Running low on supplies again. I only have enough of the flesh molding for his head. In order to protect his interior, I had to devise a temporary layer until I can make more skin.
It is composed entirely of leather, buckles, studs, screws and straps. I admit it's a little unorthodox, but it will have to do.

August 12th, 1969
4:00 pm

The face is finished! I don't mean to brag, but Michelangelo couldn't have done a better job.

He is just as I envisioned. A creature without flaw.

While fixing the hair, my buzzing mind quickly came to a halt. What was I going to name him. Not just any moniker would do. It had to be fitting to his glorious image.
Something that would display the intelligence and sensitivity I knew was in him.