personage

At first there were only sounds. The vague murmurs of the medical staff around him, speaking in their own form of tongues. Then the sounds began to take on meaning. He was able to pick out single words and understand their meaning. Stringing the words together he discovered at the ripe age of three days the sentence, and everything else began to fall into place.
While in the womb he had been fed copious amounts of information, from history to the advanced mathematics that had made it able for him to exist in the first place.
He realized that only a select amount of people from what he had come to call in his head the "good doctor's" staff, were able to have direct contact with him. At all times they were gloved and masked only their eyes visible behind the plastic shield. He also understood that it was not for their protection, but for his.
The concept of him being special was already branded into the soft tissue of his brain. Nobody was taking any chances with him. The Good Doctor did not want to see him suffer from so much as a simple head cold.
He could feel himself growing as well, an alltogether uncomfortable experience. he could sense the flesh stretching, the cells multiplying. He could feel the new weight he had gained in the night.
On the fourth day he took his first steps, already the size of a two year old. His hair was left to grow longand thick in honor of the person he was to represent. The first thing he did on his unsteady legs was to step to the Good Doctor who held his hands out to him in a gesture of acceptance, his eyes wrapped in wrinkles blazing their bright green through the plasic mask.
He would come to find in the coming days that the face the Good Doctor wore underneath was a mask in itself. Twisting and changing to suit the needs of the person he was talking to.
He knew that the doctor was pleased, this much he could tell by looking at his eyes. In them was a sense of accomlishment, unabashed and unleashed.
The child knew he was that accomplishment, but he also grasped the concept that in the end the Good Doctor would not be the one to get any credit for the genetic marvel he had created. He was here to teach and mold to physical and mental perfection. He was strictly behind the scees, even as the director.
The planet below was the set stage, waiting only for the correct characters to come into the scene.
The Good Docotr had created, at least in the confines of his own mind which was brilliant but lacking the correct inspiration, the perfect person. A person that would reach maturity circling the planet he was made to save> he would one day soon stand beside the doctor at a viewing port, watchin the sun rise and set every forty minutes.
He would be told the part he would play in fixing the turmoil below them. The seemingly calm, peaceful green and blue planete with its swirling feather dust clouds and azure seas that was at war with itself and in need of a savior.
The doctor had been charged with making God, or at least his son which amounted to the same thing in the end.
He had no intentions of letting the powers that controlled him down.
It seemed that God wasnt in the mood to make an appearance, and the palnet was shedding blood daily in his name.
The Good Doctor was charged with making sure God did make an appearance, and as far as he could see, his little diety was coming along nicely.

butchiesmom

Again, I enjoyed reading this! I'm looking forward to seeing where you take this story. It's an interesting concept!

I've made bolded my suggestions again.

Gail