A/N: Yes, do not worry your pretty little heads, I will continue with my other stories soon. I just needed to write this fic, due to a bout of insomnia. Sorry for spelling mistakes, I proofread it but I probably missed something.
Disclaimer:I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I just like torturing Erik, until he realizes I am really his one true love.
And now. The story begins..
Born into Emptyness
Dies into Darkness
He fingered his gun angrily. His long, bony fingers trembeled with uncertainty, weakness. If there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was weakness. And here he was, being the weakest creature that had ever been known in existence. Even the little microscopic creatures had a purpose, had something that they had to do before they faded into non-existence. What did he have? Nothing. Now that she was gone, his life had no meaning. There was nothing left for him.
His throat was dry, and his vision was blurred with his tears. His hand flew up to the damnable right side of his face. His jaw was clenched, and he shook violently. Darkness engulfed him as he sat at a desk, the room around him bare of anything. All he had known his whole life was pain, even when he sought refuge in Christine, she had turned from him. Turned to that insolent, undeserving boy. But then again, what had he ever done to deserve her? He had killed, caused pain to everyone he had known, never helped one person, save for one...
'Oh, Christine..'
Why had she turned from him? All that he needed was her kiss, one more time, a kiss of true love, so he could feel the redemption that he had read about so many times, in various books. How he yearned that literature would become truth, that Christine would come running back to him.
But no.
She never would. How could she ever want his repulsive carcass?
It had been a month. She was never coming back. No matter how much he wanted her touch once more, no matter how he had wanted her to love him, it would never happen. She hated him for the pitiful creature that he was. And all that was left for him now, was his thoughts.
His thoughts.
The thoughts that clamped him down as a lion who captured his prey, holding the pitiful creature down mercilessly. Totally in power, claws of death reaching in, never thinking twice about killing. How ironic that he himself had once painted that picture for many a persons, him being the lion. Now he was the prey, held down by..himself. Held down by his thoughts that would never leave him, held down by the thoughts that had once been his reason for living. His hoping that Christine would come to him, once had made his spirit soar. Now, it held him hostage, causing him endless pain, seemingly mocking him as they held him down, refusing to release their hold. There had been one thing that he thought would have gotten rid of his thoughts, at least momentarily..
Sleep.
Sleep had always been his forgiving refuge, when he could get lost in a dreamworld, where nothing was impossible.
In his dreamworld, Christine could love him.
And she did.
But there is evil that lurks deep inside the heaven of the dreamworld; the fact that when you awake, you will remember your dreams. And no matter how hard you try, sometimes dreams never become reality.
His dreams now were nightmares, always of Christine teasingly seducing him, but running off to Raoul before he could accept her, or her just out of his grasp..Nightmares that made him awake in a cold sweat, fighting tears back.
Music seemed to taunt him now, without his muse. He wanted to compose, and he did, sometimes. But when he did, try as he might to have it depict any other emotion than helplessness, never seemed to work. Even though anger, sadness, pain flooded him, all that he could potray..was helplessness.
And he was helpless, after Christine left. Nothing could help him, unless she came back.
He had allowed her time. She had had a week.
She had not come back.
He had killed before, without hesitation. Why was this one death so hard to carry out? This was the death of the person he hated more than any other man in the world. Yet he could not bring himself to kill him.
"Christine. I loved you." His voice echoed against the harsh wooden walls, cruel and unforgiving against his ears.
He raised the gun to his damnable right side, and he heard a shot ring out. The sound was welcomed and almost forgiving, as blood rushed from his mouth. But before he died, he heard once again the sound of his angel, his muse, his obsession, and he knew it was her, in the flesh, as she sang,
God give me the courage to show you,
you are not alone!
Her voice echoed down the corridor to Erik's ears, and he smiled weakly.
"Too late, my love.." he cried out feebly, before everything faded into the crushing darkness that seemed so familiar, but so new..
A/N: And so the story ends..nice one-shot, don't ye think? Reviews are very much appreciated.