Yes, another creative writing assignment! I think just about all of these were. This one was to include a haunted house, a yardstick, a kite, a toenail, and a television. My interpretation on television is VERY liberal. Morbidity and CrazyAsAllHeck!Erik await!
Disclaimer: If it's copyright, copy wrong.
My house is very beautiful. True, it sits as unlovely as a toad with a naked Greek god atop it, and its shape is as ugly and squat as any office on the spattered landscape.
But it is beautiful inside.
My house is, unfortunately, not quite in the best of shape; it seems to have burnt down. I suppose I am stuck with a fixer-upper; no matter. I can make anything disappear, if I really try. I can make things come back, too, I'm sure. They just may be a little different when the return: They will be just like me and my house.
Once when I was small, I saw in the tree outside my attic window the strangest thing. It was a big red kite – one of the birds, I mean, not a child's plaything. I never had any toys, you see. But I did have the kite, for it answered to my voice, and I would lure it in the bars nightly with the food those screaming maids brought me. Apollo knows I never ate that much of it! Soon it came to my call.
But once it didn't. Everyone followed my voice, after all… this was very strange, and I am sure my child's mind could not quite stretch over the concept. It was sitting as still as my heart must have been in the womb. I made it come back. It didn't move, but it sang again. I can make everything sing, too. I am a very special person.
So when I took to measuring the one doorway that remained of my house with a yardstick, it did not surprise me in the least that I heard the most beautiful woman's voice singing. That is to say, the most beautiful voice of a woman, not the voice of the most beautiful woman. I made that one sing, too. But she was not this siren… her lessons had not finished. I decided I would bring her back, too. I can make things come back, I'm sure. I think I know how… but how shall I enter her lovely house?
I shall come to her as I did in the beginning. She shall hear me in her dreams… but this time, she shall see me, too!
She sees me now. She sees how I suffer when I am blind to it; that is what is strange about my dreams, I suppose. I am blind yet I see. I am sure that the pastor who exorcized me would appreciate THAT! But She sees me. She sees how I cry out below and writhe in the personal pain that she has brought me. She sees the blood on my hands, dripping in hot streams down my cold skin from the little semi-circles my fingernails cut away. She sees how I miss her. I will be able to bring her back, I'm sure.
She is here now, with the kite, and like him and like me and like the house I haunt. For we are all inside her cut and stretched ivory skin...
And now we are beautiful on the outside, too.
I switch tenses because this is narrated by an Erik who seems to have rather lost his mind. This also is why he at first seems to think he is in the operahouse, and then later decides that it has burnt down. How's this for an interpretation of the Christine-goes-back story, ehh? Aha! Now review… flame me, love me, hate me, I don't care. Just say something!