Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

This is totally different sort of thing for me to write but I thought I would throw it out there and see if ya'll liked it. It will be in several short parts that alternate point of views. I believe everyone can determine who's is who's!

sarahandmarquis

-EC-

A coffin is a box where the mortal remains of men, women, and children of the human race are entombed and sealed under the earth or in a vault. Though I have never considered myself part of that culture, I have always been absolutely fascinated with coffins. They are such elegant things, built to fit the need of every corpse laid into them. They are morbid enough to draw some close and drive others away.

Also, they are ridiculously comfortable for sleeping in. Partly their build but then there is the addition of knowing that if one dies while one sleeps, one shall be properly laid to rest with little trouble upon anyone. I have often remarked that everyone should have a coffin where they reside.

But, no one has ever agreed with me on the subject. Perhaps that is another of my many eccentricities.

This eccentricity, unlike the rest, will follow me past the grave as I now lie in the coffin of my own design, waiting for the Angel of Death, a title I once held, to come and take away whatever soul he could find inside this monster's body.

I have not eaten for days and I don't recall the last time water passed my lips. My belly cries from my neglect but my muscles are too atrophied to twitch, let alone carry me far enough to reach nourishment.

For some time, I have been in a black haze. At the beginning I was still somewhat cognizant but now I have no knowledge of my surroundings and neither do I care.

I have remained in the coffin long enough to utterly soil my garments and the coffin itself but none of it matters. No one will see poor unhappy Erik like this. She isn't even likely to return. As much as I believed in her goodness and faithfulness to return, her young man will never allow her return.

No, Erik will die alone and friendless as he was brought into the world. Many times I have wondered why God ever allowed my parents to come together the night I was conceived. I have always believed, if there was a God, that he created me for his own amusement.

Yet, now, as I lay on my death bed I wonder if he truly is so bad. He can't be as he did grant me two delights before my end. I kissed her forehead and she kissed mine. Indeed, it was the greatest bliss I could ever enjoy and one I thought never to enjoy.

Perhaps there are other pleasures which humans might call far more attractive than a simple brush of the lips against the boney cranium but there isn't for me. A kiss has been my desire all my long life. A simple kiss. The gift I asked for on my fifth birthday, the thing I coveted when the harem girl was brought before me, and the compassion I received before I sent her away.

She. I believe that is the reason of my timely demise. My heart, though abnormally weak, would still keep pounding for many years had it not been for her.

Now, I do not blame her for it. In truth, I thank her in a way. There are worse ways a person or monster can die than of love though I can't think of any at the moment.

No, I cannot blame her for finally laying my worthless carcass to rest in the box where it has periodically lain during the past few decades. Indeed, that was the purpose I had originally intended for my coffin. Yes, this is assuredly for the best.

I have often mused how I should die, usually imagining something grand and spectacular to send me to my final resting place. This, though, is neither grand or spectacular. It is rather boring and fit more for the operas I write. Yet, it is good. What better way for a monster to die then of love? Indeed, it is more than good. It is perfect.

It is so dark and I am so cold. I had always thought I would go to hell and if I were truly fortunate, something I had never been, I would go to heaven. But, my surroundings right now are neither of those places. Had I been in error?

Is death not all I had thought it to be? My fascination with coffins is nothing to my fascination with death and I had sought to learn about that point in a human's life when the body detaches from the soul and spirit. Oft had I wondered what it might be like and now, I am disappointed. Let cold and lonely with my memories didn't sound like the way I wanted to spend my eternity.

The place I am in is neither heaven nor hell. Perhaps it is a place created just for murderous freaks like me for whom hell is too good. Yes, that had to be it. That is the answer. And, it is indeed the worst torture to be lost and trapped with one's painful memories.

Even though it is a horrible place to be, I am happy in a way. She at least would be free of me. She would be able to marry her boy without a pang of conscience. She was truly a good girl and would have stayed and tried to make me happy if I had required it of her.

But, truly, I had no right to cut her wings. She deserved everything that I couldn't give her: light, freedom, and innocence. Even my love for her wasn't pure. It was dark and obsessive in its bent. It would hardly be fair to her to condemn her to a fate with a husband like that.

No, she is better off with her boy. He will care for her and make her royalty. She will never want for a thing. He didn't understand her love of music but he did enjoy hearing her sing. It was a comfort to me to know she wouldn't be forced to stop singing.

Speaking of singing, I'm hearing singing. It sounds like the voice of an angel but surely, I'm not in heaven. That will never be a place my unholy soul is taken. It sounds beautiful and familiar and soon I saw a vision in white approaching me. The closer it drew to me, I more I saw of the form and was relieved and surprised to see it was an angel. Her eyes are a sapphire blue and her hair a rich gold. Her face is a blur but I knew it was beautiful. There was no way it could be anything save beautiful.

She draws even closer and reaches forth one pale hand to towards me. My heart is crying to feel the tender touch of her slender extremity. I had too long been without gentle contact. Perhaps I had been spent to heaven by accident. I didn't dare to doubt this angel. I may very quickly find myself lost in the pit of fire and so I would waste no time by doubting.

She lightly touches me, the contact nothing more than a light breeze against my skin but it sends pleasurable feelings coursing through me. I want nothing more than to grasp her hand and hold it close to me but, perhaps it is better if I don't. Surely my touch would change her into a demon. I am hardly a safe man to caress.

Her touch remains for a the shortest of moments before she begins to fade again. I couldn't cry so my heart bleeds and I silently scream for her to return. Nevertheless, I fail and she fades away completely into the blackness of the place I am.

Never in all my days have I felt such pain. It was as if the angel had ripped out my heart when she left, leaving only the blooding hole where the beating organ once laid. What hurts more is that I cannot cry. I cannot release the pain and it burns deep into me.