So this was a random inspiration I got from... I don't even know. I was doing work for my Creative Writing class (yes, school has already started for me. Monday was my first day) and suddenly this popped into my head, even though it had nothing to do with the topic. I was also listening to a very emotional and beautiful song, which I think I am going to put into my profile. I believe everybody should listen to it. So, if you have the chance, I highly recommend it. Anyway, I hope you like the story! All rights go to William Shakespeare and Andrew Lloyd-Webber. It's a twist off of "Romeo and Juliet". Well, it's like "Romeo and Juliet". I don't know if "twist" is the right word, there... So I am posting the song in my profile, as I said. Go there and listen to that first. Feel it, feel the passion. Then, come to this and read this. Trust me, it's better like that. And if you want to have an even better experience, listen to it while reading this. Then, you'll know where I was coming from with this idea, seeing as how I wrote this with that playing. Please do it! It is the only advice I leave with you! Oh, yes! How could I forget? I also ask you read "Aw0ldude"'s comment, as well. It is one of THE most beautiful things I have ever read. Thanks! And don't cry too hard! From either the story or the song. I attempted not to. I failed. Epically. On both, the song and the story.
One Last Love Note
Dearest Christine,
You will never know how I feel for you. My heart beats with yours. I feel how you feel. I am with you every step of the way. You are the only person that has ever even slightly understood me. I know you do not know much about me, but I am as unto the lowly beggar on the streets. Unwanted and hated; a disgrace and a shame to the city. As long as I live, I will be taunted and made fun of. For this face… This wretched face! Who knew such a small thing as a facial deformity could lead a man straight out of his prime and into his shady corner of solitude, resentment, and loneliness? That is where I sit now. I find myself crying myself to sleep over you…And what little sleep I do find is haunted by endless torment. Why did you leave me? I do not understand your heights of love for the Vicomte, but I do understand you love him. But why could you have not stayed and sang at the Palais Garnier? I miss you, Angel… I miss your voice… I miss the feelings of love I once held for you. But now, they lay in my squandered heart. The one you mercilessly ripped from my chest, pierced with your cold knife, threw to the ground, stomped on, and ground into the cobblestones. I feel myself dying… Everyday I can feel my senses growing weaker and weaker. Slowly they fade and eventually they will be gone. I want the torment to end. For if a man cannot love, what should he live for?
Please forgive me, Christine Daae. I was a blind, hatefilled man. I was only seeing my side, the side I wanted so desperately. Please know that I am truly sorry.
Now, I have some advice for you. Please heed it. Christine, do not forget your voice, the talent you possess. Don't be discouraged. It is a powerful thing, your voice, and I would hate for it to die. It is something that spawns inspiration and creates happy memories.
Another piece of advice: Forget the Angel of Music. He never should have deceived you like that. He knows that now and he wishes to leave this Earth. Listen to his plea and allow your tortured thoughts with him to disappear. For what once was, is no longer.
Erik
Erik ran his trembling fingers over this last note. He felt as tears swelled in his eyes and fell down his scarred face. They were the only warmth he could feel. What he used to feel, love, had disappeared. The warmth of its gentle fingers had long since left. Left when his heart had been torn out.
He let the tears slide down his face while he choked down sobs. He reached for the wax seal. With fumbling fingers, he poured the hot wax and sealed it; the last note he would ever write. The pain was growing stronger. He felt desolate and alone. His mind began to swim with everything he had ever done and he sat down to prevent falling. He pondered these thoughts, hoping he could find but one good thing. The pain grew in his chest when he found none. Only pain, misery, and anger. His breathing started becoming sharp and the feelings of sadness were overcome with anger. He stood up, swiped everything off his organ, and began to play, fervently. He played his whole life right there, from start to finish. Part one: His childhood. He played this part, the slower notes telling a story of fear and panic. Part two: His young adulthood. He played this, the notes now telling a story of anger and hate, increasing rapidity. Part three: His adulthood. The notes now painted a picture of loneliness and then, suddenly, hope, for he had found Christine. Then, it turned into something different and ran smoothly into the final part- Part four: His last days. This part painted forgiveness and pain. The pain of a broken heart. He played these parts with feeling and passion. He poured his entire soul into this piece, longing for the right notes and chords. Finally, the pain the memories brought were too much. He slammed his fist into the keys and screamed. He screamed Christine's name. He screamed wordless cries of anguish. He fell to his knees, his throat raw and tears falling down his face and onto the cold ground. He rolled onto his back and sobbed.
"Why?" He sobbed, asking the world, "Why do I suffer so much? Why am I different?"
When he finally managed to calm himself, he picked himself up and grabbed the note. He stumbled numbly through the dark corridors of the fifth cellar. He needed Madame Giry. He needed her to deliver this.
After what seemed like hours of wandering, Erik finally found himself facing a door. He subconsciously found himself knocking. After ten seconds, or so, the door creaked open and there stood Madame Giry.
"Erik? What-" She began.
"Deliver this. I need you to deliver this. Madame, to Christine, please. Now." He said. "It is for her eyes only, Madame. So do not look upon the contents with your own."
Madame Giry could see his tear streaked face and the pain that was clearly written upon his face. She had heard him screaming only moments ago. Seeing him like this, it broke her heart. And before she knew it, she had gathered him up in her arms, her motherly instincts taking over. She hugged him tight and felt as he collapsed into her embrace.
"Madame, I cannot take it anymore." He sobbed. "I want it to end. Oh, make it stop!"
Madame Giry felt herself crying as well. Her boy, the boy she had rescued so many years ago, was back and needed guidance and love. She did not hold the Phantom of the Opera in her arms, but a small boy named "Erik" from a city in France named Rouen. Her poor, tortured, metaphorical son was back.
She did not know how long she held him and how long he cried, but eventually he stopped and pulled away.
"Deliver that. Good-bye, Madame. It was a pleasure knowing you." He said, turning to leave. He stopped himself. "Thank you."
The Madame was confused.
"For what, Erik?" She asked.
He smiled sadly. "For attempting to save a damned soul's life. I appreciate the efforts." He turned and left, disappearing into the shadows before Madame Giry could ask what he meant. She was so confused! Why was he saying good-bye like that? Unfortunately, she would not find out until much later. She would not realize until it was too late.
Christine entered the Opera House, her hand grasping Raoul's arm, attempting not to think of Him. She was with Raoul now and she was happy. It had been two weeks since their marriage and it was one of the best decisions she felt she had made. She still missed her Angel of Music, but she knew he would be long gone, probably somewhere in the country. She wanted to see him again, yet, she didn't. She still longed for him, to right things. To tell him she did appreciate his lessons in music! But seeing him again would only make her even more pained; it would open the scabbing wounds and pour salt into it.
Suddenly, Raoul tugged lightly on her arm. She snapped back to attention and found Madame Giry in front of her.
"I'm sorry! I was just a little lost in thought!" She apologized, quickly. "Were you saying something, Madame?"
"Yes," Madame Giry responded. She pointed towards a branching hallway. "I need you to accompany me over there, please. By yourself. Vicomte, could you wait here for a moment? I just need a word with Madame de Chagny."
Raoul looked a little reluctant, but he gestured for Christine to follow the ballet mistress. Christine began to follow Madame Giry, quite confused. She looked back over her shoulder, just to see Raoul's reassuring gaze, and continued on.
She was led throughout the Opera House until the Madame and herself were by themselves in a hallway that was rarely used. The ballet mistress motioned for her to come up next to her. Christine did so and Madame Giry pulled out an envelope. The first thing the young singer recognized was the wax seal. She was suddenly filled with excitement. But dread... She was happy. But sad...
"He wanted me to give this to you." Madame Giry said and quickly described how he had been earlier, his state of pain and sorrow. She held out the envelope. Christine looked at the Madame's face for a moment, searching for anything. A clue to what it might be, perhaps. But none came, so she took the envelope into her shaking fingers.
"I will meet you by the entrance door where Raoul will be waiting as well." The ballet mistress said, walking away and leaving Christine alone. Christine ran her fingers over the wax seal. What had he written? She wasn't sure if she wanted to open it, or not. Eventually, she decided she should open it. Using her index finger on her right hand, she slid it under the seal, breaking it in two.
What she read wasn't what she had expected. She had expected it to be a plea for her to come back, to join him. But it wasn't. Instead, it was a note of forgiveness and pain. A note of sorrow. His note brought tears to her eyes. She couldn't leave him like this! She needed to go and see him. Comfort him and strengthen him. So before she had fully decided upon it, she was hurrying towards her old dressing room.
Erik was back in his cavernous home, sitting upon the cold stone floor. He held a gleaming dagger he had stolen from a rich man above ground in his hand. He turned it over and over in his hands, pondering. His fingers traced the intricate designs on the handle and the blade above. He had said good-bye to Madame Giry and apologized to Christine. There was nothing left to do except throw himself into the black, dark, eternal depths of death. He traced his fingers over the instrument one last time and then turned the blade so it pointed towards him. He wrapped his fingers around the handle and closed his eyes. This was it. This was what he needed to do. With one last deep breath and one last thought of his love, Christine, he plunged the blade into his stomach. The pain seared through his veins and he pulled the dagger out and held it in his hand. Blood immediately started spilling out and onto his nice, white shirt. His lungs were clogging up with the crimson substance and he immediately began to choke. His head swam and he fell onto his side, coughing up blood. He had pondered about using his punjab lasso, but he did not deserve a quiet death. He deserved to die long and painfully.
Erik was in extreme pain. He felt like a ravenous beast was trying to rip itself out of his body. But he deserved this. He deserved this...
Suddenly, something pushed him over. A young woman appeared in his vision line. She had brown, curly, hair and her eyes were a nice warm brown. Her pale skin tone shone in the light of the candles. He had not a doubt in his mind about who this was.
"Christine..." He whispered, followed by a coughing fit. He hacked up blood and spat it out next to him. Christine was clearly worried and panicked.
"Here, hold still. It's going to be alright." Christine tried to reassure, pressing her palms to his stomach, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. "Just... Hang in there, alright? I-we need to get you help! Just let me-" Erik cut her off.
"No, Christine." He said in his commanding tone. "There is nothing you can do. Please... This is what I have chosen."
"But I cannot just let you die!" She sobbed. "Angels cannot die..."
He smiled. "You are so beautiful..." He said, stroking her cheek and wiping away her tears. A racking fit hit him again and he spat the metallic taste of blood from his mouth, blood falling from his lips. His face twisted in pain and he started gasping.
"No, no! Don't do this!" She cried over and over again, shaking his shoulders, lightly, as if that would keep him away from the eternal darkness."I want to come with you!" She grabbed the knife that lay by his side. But before she could do anything with it, Erik stopped her, grabbing her roughly by her wrist.
"No, that is not for you. Do you understand me? You need to become what I have taught you to be. I will not let good talent go to waste."
"Then why are you laying here, now, dying? You are wasting good talent!"
Erik just shook his head.
"Christine..." He whispered her name, enjoying the taste of it on his with that, the world lost another brilliant, ingenious, soul. Christine could not believe it. He couldn't be dead! But here was proof; his body in her arms. Christine felt like she was losing her father all over again. And in a sense, she was. This was a man that had been like a second father. She didn't care if he was pretending to be somebody he wasn't. She knew that everything he had ever done for her was out of love. Maybe out of a twisted sort of love, but it was still love. He had always cared for her.
Christine was passing through denial. She kept muttering the word "no" and shaking her head back and forth. She could not believe he was dead... And then it hit her, like a slap in the face. Not only did she realize he was dead, but the fact that she had loved him. Not like Raoul, but she had. She had held feelings for him. And it broke her heart. She wished he was still alive so she could thank him and tell him she loved him. That's all he had ever wanted, all he had ever needed! Somebody to tell him they loved him and they cared for him. And she had not obliged.
Christine felt empty, cold, and completely guilty... With tears streaming down her face, she noticed the instrument that had taken her mentor, sitting in her hand. She examined the blood. And she thought of nothing. Not of Raoul, Madame Giry, or Meg. Not even of her future children. She just thought of then and there. And that moment was the worst moment of her life. Without even thinking of Erik's words, or the people she loved, she extinguished her flame, throwing the cold tip of the blade into her chest. She fell down next to her Angel and the world went black, death's cold fingers claiming an innocent's soul.
It had been quite some time since Christine had disappeared. Perhaps an hour or two? Madame Giry could only think of one thing that had happened. Christine had gone looking for the Phantom of the Opera.
She hurried through the crowded hallways, ignoring various insults and swearwords thrown in her direction, and reached Christine's dressing room. She found the door open and rushed inside. Taking the dark stairs and various hallways, she found herself at the lake. She had never passed this far... She had never had the courage to.
Of course, the boat was missing. It would be perched along the shoreline of his domain. Seeing only one option, Madame Giry took a deep breath and waded through the cold water until her teeth were chattering and she saw land not too far away. Hurrying, she clambered onto the cold, rocky surface. Near the organ, something caught her eye. She ascended the slanting area of rock towards the object and gasped. There lay Christine Daae, with a bloody knife in her hand, in the arms of Erik, the little gypsy boy.
Well, there you go! Man, that was a gut wrencher... Not the violence, for that obviously doesn't bother me as most of you know, but the fact that... I just killed the two main characters... And dude, that was depressing... Don't forget to review!