The End "You came back." His voice hardly sounded like his own. It was feeble, tremulous… …fading. "I came back." My own voice trembled, and I let the tears fall freely. He said nothing, and his eyes glistened as he simply stared. Silence hung in the air, draped with endless emotion, heavy and stifling and steeped in sorrow so powerful that I could not help but sob anew. He let out a soft sigh, pained and mournful and tinged with wonder, and from his lips fell, scarcely more than a whisper, "You came back." I drew my fist up to my mouth, shaking my head furiously and choking back more sobs, my shoulders shaking with the effor
DeathNever had I seen such destruction. I have played witness to the brutal torture carried out in the prisons back in Persia and have, indeed, experienced said torture myself, but never… It was as if his house had imploded upon itself. Chairs were scattered upon the floor, lethal-looking slivers of wood jutting out from the legs that had been snapped in half. His fine loveseats had been shredded, bits of stuffing seeping out sheepishly from between tattered burgundy upholstery. Beneath a graveyard of empty and broken wine bottles, the carpets were littered with ominous red stains. The same red liquid had dried to a brown upon the walls, an
Apollo's Lyre I could positively taste the sense of urgency in the air, the frantic pulse that beat around us as we stood on the top of the world. Our fingers were desperately interlaced, palms sweating in the frigid air. Paranoia tugged at my eyes and pulled them side to side, an endless beat that gathered bile in my throat. “Dead!” Raoul cried, his brows furrowed with worry, “I can’t believe it, Buquet actually died! On the stage, no less! In front of an entire audience! Oh, my God…” “Everyone is saying it was suicide. An accident,” I muttered half-heartedly. Raoul shook his head in disbelief, causing strands
Q and A1. What’s an awesome acronym of your name? Every Rat Is Kind (Don't look at me that way...I'm unreasonably exhausted this evening.)2. Do you feel taller or shorter than you really are? I'm rather tall to begin with, actually.3. Do you act younger or older than you really are? Oh, most certainly both. The majority of the time, I behave like a cantankerous old codger, but I can certainly throw tantrums worthy of a furious child.4. What do you think your best physical trait on your face is? Ha! 5. What do you think other people think of you? "I do not want that funereal creature coming near me again!" And that, my friend, is a quot
Erik's Billionth Quiz1) How Old Are You?I haven't the slightest idea. I never bothered to keep track. I imagine it's around forty-something. Yes, that is probably it...I certainly can't be too old...I am still quite spry, you see.2) Height?Well over six feet, that is for sure. Any attempt at being inconspicuous is futile.3) You got any bad habits?Oh, several. I am ripe with vices.I tend to speak in third person when I am angry. Or when I have a particularly nasty case of indigestion.Also, I have been told that I have an obsessive personality, although where Nadir gets that idea, I do not know...4) You a virgin?Here comes that indigestion...5
Breathe AgainI remember it was cold that night. I had taken care to wear a woolen cloak even when inside. The cellars were typically frigid, but the icy temperature very rarely caused my teeth to chatter. Perhaps I was used to it. Life and I have never been on the best of terms, you see. I find that, were it not for the saving grace that I shall discuss later on, I would rejoice in death. It may seem unfathomable but on that day, several years ago, I was actually worse off than I am now. And that is saying something. I was dead in most senses of the word. My heart was beating, of course, but seemed to be so black and shriveled that it hardly mattered
Break AwayMy throat closed up at the sight of the old house. It looked exactly as it had so many years ago, save for several spidery cracks on the gray exterior, new, perfectly manicured flowers and shrubs that lined the pristine walkway, and chips in the paint. It was a lovely home, sturdy and well-built, the picture of flawless living. It was a ridiculous lie. A very large part of me screamed in protest at my choice. Indeed, I could hardly believe that I was standing here, a prisoner to my past once again. Antoinette Giry had accosted me earlier in the week with “urgent news.” I’d reluctantly met with her in her office. She’
QuestioningWhat if I’m crazy? I don’t want to think about it, I really don’t. No one wants to believe that they are quite possibly mentally impaired. But what if I am? What if all that has happened to me has just been one long, wonderful delusion? Because that is exactly how it seems at times: so completely and inexplicably perfect that I never want it to end. So blissfully, incredibly beautiful that I have to wonder if it is possible for anything to be that lovely. Oh, God, what if I’m crazy? I still hear the Voice. He speaks to me everyday, sometimes many times a day. We always talk of the passionate music that binds us tog
Food“It’s so cold in here,” I complained, running my hands up and down my arms, “Why on earth do you keep it so cold?” Erik shrugged elegantly from where he sat across from me, “It has always been rather cold down here. I have grown used to it, I suppose. Forgive me. Christine, I give little thought to the comfort of my guests because I never have company, you see. Do not go anywhere. I shall fetch you blankets.” He rose in one fluid movement and gracefully loped out of the room, bent on his task. I blew a curl out of my eyes and drew my knees up to my chest. I wondered if I had made a mistake in suggestin
Pen and PaperTo my dear managers, It has come to my attention that a problem regarding the production has arisen. As you know, I make a conscious effort to keep my opera house running smoothly, and am troubled when I hear that not all is going according to plan. My plan. Because it is my plan that will ensure the further success of my theatre and also guarantee that the two of you won’t end up on the streets acting like the drunken, discombobulated dimwits that you are. So it would really be in your best interests, my kind managers, to follow my instructions carefully. I shall be enormously unhappy if I am forced to repeat them yet again, and the
More QuestionsErik was asked the following:1- Find the book nearest to you, go to page 18, find line 4:"For nature crescent does not grow alone."~Shakespeare's Hamlet2- Stretch out your left arm as far as you can:...Alright. Now what?3- Without looking, what time is it?:Midnight.4- Now, what is the actual time?:A minute past midnight.5- When did you last step outside?:Ah...it would have to be around two weeks ago. I was in dire need of a new dress shirt because Nadir knocked over a bottle of ink on the old one. Why he was snooping around my desk, I've no idea, but I promptly poured the entire bottle over his balding head. His scalp is
Another Quiz?1.Name: Erik2. Nickname: The Phantom of the Opera, Angel of Music, "Guy With the Fedora."3. Birthday: Unknown4. Place of Birth: St. Martin de Boscherville, France5. Chinese Zodiac Sign: This is hardly relevant, as I am neither aware of my birth date, nor Chinese.6. Male or Female: Male7. Education: Self-taught8. Schools you went to: Weren't you listening?9. College: You tire me, do you know that?10. Residence: Paris11. Screen Names: Screen?__Your Appearance___ (Must you?!)12. Hair Colour: Black.13. Hair Length:I could certainly use a cut.14. Eye colour: A disturbing shade of yellow. I rather look as if I have jaund
Because I CanLAYER ONE:Name: Many: Opera Ghost, the Phantom, Angel of Music, and certain explicit names that common decency forbids me to record. You may call me Erik.Birthplace: St. Martin de Boscherville, FranceBirthday: Will you believe me if I assure you that I have absolutely no idea?Gender: Male. I pity the woman named “Erik.”Eye Color: a rather garish shade of yellowHair Color: Ah, you must be referring to those fine, shaggy strands that crown my head? Black, then.Height: Six feet, four inches, I believe. Why can’t you behave normally and use the metric system like everyone else?Righty or Lefty: Hands? Left. Zodiac
Questions_______Best________1. Male friend: I suppose Nadir could count...yes, he's certainly put up with enough.2. Female friend: The cat.3. Vacation: Unfortunately, vacation-time is nonexistent at this point. I should like to travel to Egypt someday, however. History practically seeps from the walls in that city.5. Memory:I shan't forget her debut gala as long as I live._______Worst________1. Time of day: Day itself. I much prefer moonlight.2. Day of the week: There is a mutual dislike of Monday, no matter who you speak to. Mondays herald another week of notes, arguments, and Mlle. Carlotta's petty complaints regarding her
The Holiday: Chapter OneThe Holiday: Chapter One How I detest Mondays. Of course this dislike is deliciously cliché, but I feel entirely justified in my frustration. This particular Monday was presenting itself as one of the worst in quite some time: indeed, I had only been observing rehearsal for an hour and already my head was throbbing. The usual was taking place, only exaggerated to such an extent that had I been in good health, I would have been doubled over with laughter. Signora Guidicelli was persistently griping about God knows what at the top of her oper
Half the Time...Half the time, I was at a complete loss of what to do. His mind worked at lightning speed, and he was always ready with a witty retort that left me utterly defeated. It was like living with an incredibly socially inept adult. And this “adult” was, at nine years old, a terrible thing to behold. Our relationship was, to say the least, disturbed. His quiet, brooding presence frightened me. I would freeze up whenever he floated down the stairs—for he never really seemed to walk, but glide through a room. I always felt like I was being silently evaluated, like he knew my maternal skills did not fare as well as they should. We bo
The interview1. What's a commonly used nickname(s) people call you by? “Opera Ghost,” “Le Fantome de l’Opera” “Angel of Music” and “That Good-For-Nothing-&*@!%?#”2. What's your favourite colour?Black3. What's your favourite food? Food does not sit well with me.4. Are you a squeamish person?Surely you jest! No: I see nothing wrong with occasional bloodshed, provided it is carried out in necessity…or boredom.5. What's your favourite animal?I often thought I would be quite happy as a spider. Even spiders have the right to mate.*6. Biggest pet peeve?I shall be honest and say the human rac
Backstage Gossip“Meg Giry, you little prat,” snapped La Sorelli from where she sat at her dressing table puffing chalky powder onto her face, “if you knew what was good for you, you would shut your mouth this instant!” From the opposite side of the dressing room, the little waif of a girl pursed her full lips and tossed a thick shock of long ebony hair over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t talk that way if I were you, Sorelli,” Meg sneered pompously, narrowing her slate gray eyes, “The ghost could be lurking somewhere near.” The crowd of lanky ballerinas huddled around Meg let out a collective gasp, snapping their
Sta.sh
