Guys-this won't be happy. I understand that most of you will be appalled that I could write something this dark. Usually my writing is light.
Usually I can't write stuff like this-refuse to is a more accurate description. Writing pain will only bring pain-or so I believe. I'm guessing you're wondering why I'm writing something like this then. I'm in a dark and depressing mood right now. I just found out that someone close to me-she's leaving and I most likely will never see her again.
Anyway-if you don't like dark and disturbing, don't read this. I've warned you.
Erik and The Phantom of the Opera (c) Gaston Leroux 1910.
Why Erik? Why does Erik always suffer? He loved, he loved with all his heart and yet it was not enough.
He had cried for her, cried for her losses, for the pain he had caused.
He had begged. He had pleaded and yet there was avail.
She had cried for him. She had cried for his pain and suffering and yet it was not enough.
His heart would kill him. He was sure of it. No, he was dying. It was agonizing, painful and yet he looked forward to it.
He didn't want to live-not without Christine.
He couldn't live without her.
There was an empty space where he had held her so dear.
It was killing him.
Slowly, painfully, but surely he was dying.
It was taking far too long.
It was too painful.
He couldn't do it.
He couldn't live. Not anymore. Not with this much pain.
It was too late.
Far too late.
Nothing could ever be the same.
He felt like a knife had been driven inside of him.
He didn't want to feel the pain of loss and emptiness anymore.
He would go to hell.
He didn't care.
He couldn't live.
Erik is dead.
Told you it was dark. I'm not too sure how this turned out. Never written anything like it before. This (in my twisted state of mind at the moment.) is how I imagine Erik feeling right before he died.
I know that you probably didn't enjoy this. But I hope you found it...interesting to read.