Frankenstein 'what if' (2007)

I wrote this as an in-class 'think' assignment, a 'what if' in regards to Frankenstein. I chose to write a blurb starting a 'what if Frankenstein hadn't abhorred his monster?' story. This is what came out. I have no idea of any plot, however, and don't plan to write any more.
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I finished my creation right as the first sparkle of sunlight crept through the cracks in the wall. It opened its eyes, the first sign of life... then made a horrible sound. My joy at my success simmered down as I was faced with doubt. The creature was not as beautiful as I imagined it to be — in some ways it was even horrifying. I suppose I knew that when I first attempted to bring it to life, but it wasn’t until it made that creaking sound I really understood my mistake. In that moment I was ready to run away, hide in my room, cursing my unlucky self. Something stopped me, an unexpected action: the creature smiled. Not the sort of smile you might imagine, as it was not built that way. But the joy came through, I could see the emotion in its face, and its eyes shone like a happy puppy dog. Despite the horror I had been feeling, moments before, I thought... cute. How such a weird, mis-formed being could look so sweet I still cannot understand, but that is what I felt. Perhaps it was because I, myself, longed to love and be loved, that led me to feel such protection towards my creation. My mind began to battle with itself. Monster. Cute. Horrible beast. Sweet. Disaster. Success. Ah, but that which is sweet always wins against reason. I knew long before, when I first began the experiment, that what I was doing should not be done by any mortal. It is the right of the Gods alone to create life... and there should be no resurrection from the dead, even as a patchwork creation. But my curiosity and desire to learn prompted me to create it, and here it was. I heard sounds on the ground floor, voices above my head. I panicked — what would others do if they found it? What if they don’t see the shimmers of life and joy in its eyes? I created it, it was my responsibility. The protective feeling hit me hard, and I gathered the little thing in my arms. It squeaked in protest, and again I winced at the sound that was something between metal on metal and a dying cat’s yowl. Carefully, unsure of how robust the thing was, I took it to a closet and placed it inside, where I hoped any sounds it might make would be muffled. Then I hurried from the room and ran up the stairs, two at a time, to face the intruders. I couldn’t think of who they might be, as any friends I’d had abandoned me when I started my project. It was only as I placed my hand on the handle did I realize who it could be, but by then it was too late. The door opened away from me, and I fell forward onto the floor in front of glaring, accusing eyes.