Hello, all! I got the idea for this right before bed as I was listening to "Get Up" by Barcelona. I probably have a totally different take on the song's actual meaning because I'm guessing, but this is my interpretation of it. Kind of. We'll see how it goes.


Darkest Depths

I don't know where I am. My mind is cloudy, trapped in an endless space of black. I feel strange, lost in this new world where I am only a thick wad of thoughts and not a body. Did I once have a body? I must have, for I know this word and along with it ventures others such as touch, heat, heavy, and a strange feelings that comes in a rush and leaves me dazed.

I've been here for a long time. But here is timeless. Here, there is no desire to leave and none to stay. I may have been born here and my existence will count for nothing other than existing. I will not progress. This blackish night is eternity.

But if I know what night is…then I must have been aware of day at one point.

Sometimes there is pain. Excruciating pain that drives the blackness to red. But it is quickly replaced with the emptiness again. I almost enjoy the pain because it is something new in this bland world. It makes me imagine that I have a body somewhere and that for a few moments, it is reconnecting with me.

And then I can awaken. Whatever being "awake" means anymore.

There are times when I fancy I'm dreaming, though my state of mind remains unaltered. But it has to be a dream because what I hear cannot possibly be real; what is "real" here, though?

It is a voice, the most wonderful voice I have ever heard before. (Of course, before there has only been the sound of my thoughts. Are there other sounds here, I wonder…) The voice says my name. Yes, I have a name.

Christine.

The voice from my dream is so sweet and whispers the gentlest words to me. Later, I cannot recall what they were but the memory makes the black seem less dark. Perhaps this is the closest to daylight I shall ever get.

But the best part is that the voice sings!

If you can imagine the most perfect music in the whole universe, magnify it by an infinite amount, and you shall have the angelic voice that visits me on occasion. It sings many things that I don't remember but know are absolutely beautiful and performed with such emotion that I wonder if the voice can somehow be human.

The voice keeps me sane-though perhaps this blackness is the proof that I am completely the opposite. I hold to it and await it like an eager child being presented a treat. I feel…more, as if I am bigger than a bundle of thoughts and a little bit of pain. Something happens to this world when the voice comes. Thoughts become easier to think, a weight seems to lift, and there is a sudden reminder that I do not belong here.

For I don't belong here, right?


The man the nurses referred to as "the angry husband" and the doctors complained about behind cups of coffee and closed doors put his head into his hands as he sat next it his wife's hospital bed. In one hand, he felt the ruggedness of stubble and the weary lines of sleep neglect. The other hand was greeted with smooth leather, cold and unmoving.

He didn't like wearing the mask as much as he'd been forced to for the last year. In public he never ignored the reassurance it brought but he'd been in the public's eye for far too long. Nearly 24/7, he was stared at, observed, critiqued, and measured up. The nurses did it shamelessly though the doctors had a bit more respect and only placed their professional gaze on him when his back was turned. He knew it would be worse without the mask, but still it was uncomfortable.

Beneath his hands, the man nearly smiled. Odd to think that he would now find wearing the mask uncomfortable. Christine had altered him like a hurricane alters the landscape near the sea. From the very moment he saw her, she'd begun tearing up his deep-rooted connections with the mask and left a raw, but healable holes in their place. His little wife refused to speak to him if he wore it in their home and considered purchasing a locked safe to keep them in. That is, until he assured her that he could easily break open any lock.

She had looked at him with such malice that he'd shivered in delight and kissed her.

And that was the end of that discussion.

"Mr. Destler," a female voice called from the door. He snapped his hands away and granted her full view. "Your wife's family is here for a visit."

He growled at the news and the nurse scurried away. They were becoming used to his strange mannerisms and knew that no matter how displeased he acted about Christine's family coming in, he'd not stopped them yet.

If Christine wouldn't wake up for him, maybe she would for them.

It was only a few minutes before Antoinette Giry and her daughter, Meg walked into the room, dutifully ignoring the glare he sent their way. Though he had admitted them into his wife's room before, the time may come when he barred the entrance against the mother and daughter.

"Good evening, Erik," Antoinette said with her usual clipped tone.

"No need to sound so excited to see me, Madame," Erik hissed, but backed away from Christine's bedside to all them to see her. Meg cowered behind her mother as usual. She'd been afraid of Erik from the moment Christine brought him home. "Look what the cat dragged in" seemed to be an appropriate statement in regards to his welcome there.

"Don't play, boy." Erik despised when she called him that. Did a man of his stature and age really remind her of an immature child? "I've never been excited to see you. Christine may not be my literal daughter, but from the moment Gustave and I married, she became that. And you have no place at her side."

Erik's bright eyes narrowed, looking like slits of gold. The older Giry was being quite antagonistic today. Normally they had a silent hatred of each other playing through veiled threats. But today…

"Christine chose me over that wretched little fool you dragged in years ago! Why are you seething about it now?"

Antoinette took Christine's pale hand made warm by machines plugged into her body. She held it rather fiercely. Meg simply brushed Christine's hair with hesitant fingers and looked away from the arguing pair. "I have spoken with the doctors again, Erik."

Erik's blood began to boil. It was a wonder his skin wasn't rippling at the heated effect. "The last time you spoke with those imbeciles, you nearly killed her!"

"The medication might have worked if given time-"

"And given time I could have lost her!"

Antoinette winced and looked softly at the ground. Erik was surprised to her expression changing. In the background, he noticed Meg had tears running down her cheeks and her hand had stilled in Christine's brown curls.

It was with a hesitant and choked voice that the mother replied, "You've already lost her. We've already lost her."

The hospital room was dashed in cold and painful silence. The Giry's looked away from the husband's confused stare. "What do you mean by that, Antoinette?" His voice was hollow. He sounded scared.

"We've spoken with the doctors about…" She trailed off and brought a hand up to wipe a tear away. The older woman never cried, especially not in the presence of her detested son-in-law.

"About what!" Erik roared, causing them both to jump. It was an odd sight not to see Christine react to his sudden violence. She was such a fragile creature and had no tolerance for even a raised voice. But now she remained as still as ever. Where had his beautiful wife gone? Why wouldn't she come back?

"We're going to remove Christine from life support."

Erik's joints tensed and his fingers curled slowly into fists as if he were weighing the risks of striking Christine's mother. He should do it…even for just thinking such a terrible thought…he should eliminate any voice suggesting such a thing…how could she?

"But she's your daughter," he whispered.

Antoinette released a breath in a sob. "This is not my daughter anymore, Erik. This is a body that will never wake up. She's gone."

"No, she's not!" he raged, "She is still here! She's locked away in her mind somewhere, but we can get her out." He went over to Christine's side in three long-legged steps and took her other hand. It was almost comical to think how they looked like two children tugging on a rag doll they both wanted to play with. "My wife is alive."

"I know your nature enough that I knew you'd never agree," Antoinette said, sounding once more like the controlled resistance he was accustomed to.

"My nature? Could you perhaps mean the fact that I love her more than my own life, Madame?"

"No, I'm referring to the obsession you've demonstrated since before your marriage."

Erik chose to ignore her comment and focus on the matter at hand. "You cannot do this. I am her husband and therefore in legal control here. You will never kill her."

Antoinette laughed and even Meg looked upset by the chill it contained. "Oh Erik, haven't you realized it yet? After all, you've had a year to think about it."

His hands twisted into Christine's fingers, seeking the comforting squeeze she might have given at this moment. "What are you talking about?"

"I am not going to kill her, boy. You accomplished that a year ago the night of the crash. What's more, you speak of your status as a husband? I know of more than one court that would question your sanity and ability to think healthily in a situation such as this. Think of it: a man in a mask trying to represent himself in a court full of people. You'd be too frightened to even step into the room."

"I'd do anything it took to protect Christine from you." Erik was resolved, body firm and eyes locking onto hers.

Antoinette motioned to Meg and began to leave the room. "She's gone, Erik. There is nothing more to protect. Let her body at least die in dignity." And with that being said, they left.

Erik stood as he was for many minutes as he sorted through what had just passed. Surprisingly calm, he resumed his place at the edge of Christine's bed, fingers still locked around her hand.

"I know you're there, Christine. I can feel it." He looked at her unmoving face. How he longed for those blue eyes to open and that lovely smile to break out upon her face! He'd give all his possessions just to hear that laugh come back to life and once again pull him up from the darkest depths.