This is an attempt at humor. My other, Young Wizards, humor fic was fairly well recieved. Hope this one is. The inspiration for this is, my cousin is in band and she told me about this guy who can just pick up almost any instrument and play it fairly well in maybe an hour or so. Except the flute. (Which my cousin plays.) And I thought, hmm, Erik can play all sorts of instruments...but what if he couldn't play flute...? And thus a (hopefully) humorous fic was born, for better or for worse.

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I own a lot of spiffy merchandise...but not the rights. -swears under her breath-

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"Damned thing!" Erik raised the instrument above his head, ready to send it slamming into the opposite wall. At the last second before he threw it, he took in a deep breath, attempting to calm himself.

He resignedly took the flute apart, at last only holding the mouthpiece in his hand, looking at it as if it where the very bane of his existence.

At the moment, it was, though, so such a look can be excused.

Damn to the depths the idiot who invented the flute. Why could he not play it?...He, the Angel of Music! Erik mentally ticked off the list of instruments he had mastered, and easily. Organ. Piano. Mandolin. Violin. Viola. Cello. French horn. Oboe. Clarinet. Trumpet. Banjo. (So the Angel of Music had a hillbilly side. Gotta problem with that?) Name it, and he'd been able to coax the most beautiful music you'd heard in your life out of it after, at the very most, a day.

But not the blasted flute!

Erik glared at the silver mouthpiece. He pursed his lips and adjusted his lower lip to sit on it properly. He blew, softly at first, trying to get a pleasing sound to come out of the stubborn instrument. No sound. He blew into the damned thing harder.

Pfft! said the mouthpiece of the flute.

Erik swore and this time really did chuck it against the wall.

He sat, seething, in his chair for a few moments, calling the flute all sorts of various, sundry, and not-so-pleasant names. Then finally he got up and picked it up, muttering obscenities under his breath.

The Very Angry Opera Ghost counted to ten, like that anger management book Giry had picked up for him suggested. Then, with a terrible, forced calm, he raised the instrument to his lips yet again. He let out a gentle breath of air and…miracle! Oh, blessed day! Nevermind that he was an atheist, praise be to God! Merciful Jesus! Praise all the gods ever worshipped! A sound came out! Music came out. Erik took the flute from his lips and did a little happy dance on the spot.

Wishing to relive his victory, he tried to blow into the flute again, slowly and surely.

A little spittle flew out the end, and it made that old stubborn Pfft! sound.

Erik threw the damned thing on the ground, and immediately began having a child's tantrum, jumping up and down. However, this shocking display of dignity was interrupted when he landed on the mouthpiece of the flute, it rolled, and his foot went flying out from underneath him. He slammed down to the ground, tailbone first, and then his back fell flat against the ground. He groaned, and shouted every curse he'd ever heard, in every language he'd ever studied to the ceiling of his lair.

Let us leave the so-called Angel of Music for a moment, during his shocking display of foul language, for a bit of a rant by the Author of This Phic, because she kind of feels like it.

One must ask oneself, what sort of Angel of Music can't play the flute? Even I can play the flute. I mean, my cousin showed me how to blow into it, and I got it after a few minutes. I even played a B flat, a D, and one other note I can't remember right now. And the only other instruments I'd ever played before were violin and piano. I mean really.

(We return to Erik a few minutes later. He has finally stopped his flood of colorful curses, and has had a bit of a lightbulb-over-the-head moment, as you will soon see.)

Now he knew what to do with the flute! It wasn't worth playing. Damned instrument. It didn't deserve to be played by the Angel of Music.

A few minutes later, Erik departed his lair, headed off to Christine's music lesson, in extremely high spirits, and laughing maniacally, as was his wont. He'd shown that flute what was what.

Hanging from the opposite wall was the flute, put back all together, with a Punjab lasso wrapped snugly around its little silver neck.

Ah, revenge.

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Yep. My mind is weird for me to write a story like this...oh well. Hope you liked it! Drop me a review and let me know. Please!