Disclaimer: FREAK this isn't mine… Darn…
This may be crazy: SOC- stream of consciousness, and 3rd p is third person. And naturally, 1st p is first person. Ok, here we go, lets try to remain awake here…
SOC
….
I didn't want to go on after all that- I just wanted to cease existing, to seize up and die, badda bing badda boom. Bye bye feeling, bye bye Christine, bye bye music, bye bye life. Just to escape from it all, and to finally have an ending, if not a happy one. At least the tragedies could end there, even if just with another one. What I would have given to die.
But alas, I had no sword, no dagger, no poison, no method of this demise of which I hoped for. All I had was the Punjab Lasso, and even now that was broken. Stupid fop- he had a knife with him the entire time! He easily could have freed himself, but instead waited for me to free him by burning it, all the while slowly whittling away at it to prevent further use. Honestly, he could have gotten himself out and maybe done something righteous…
And naturally, he tricked me, and lied to Christine! At that point, if I had known he was simply waiting for Christine's reaction, I would have killed him then and there- firstly because of what he was putting Christine for, and because it was his helplessness that had stopped me in the first place, to watch my enemy squirm as his lover decided his fate…
But the fact that his lover was my love didn't fit into the equation. Because of it, suicide was the only thought on my mind- finding a way out.
Long I stood there, reflecting, holding the broken remains of my Punjab Lasso, died red to represent it was my blood, part of me, and assessed it's damage: Raoul had indeed slowly weaseled out the inside to get some more air, but he had also destroyed much of the part before the knot, the part in which I depend on for throwing it- he had left me a metaphorical message, and he knew I would find it, dead or alive.
…
3rd p
…
Mist crawled over the surface of the lake and yawned at the edge of the gates, condensing on every surface. Curls of the haze that made it through the bars that kept people and things out and in would creep over and pace around Erik like a dog that senses something is ill at ease with it's master as he sentimentally held his lasso oh so delicately.
Erik shoed away his misty pet as he slowly paced around his lair, prison, his only resting place. He had set his heart on the fact he would not go on, simply would not, no matter how or why, and was determined to keep it that way.
But even as his eyes searched the darkness for an answer, he idly caressed the surface of his ebony piano, his fingers picking his way over to the keys, playing first an A, then an F, then a G sharp, then several cords of a piece of Music he had yet to write…
NO, Erik thought, I'm not going on!
Then he laughed. Such insolence. Such foolish insolence.
Erik sighed and sat down on the piano bench, brushing off the cloak he had carelessly tossed onto it as he had forced Christine down once more. His fingers continued to play random notes into the darkness as his mind began to wander.
…
SOC
…
So I cannot stay down here, then where do I go? Goodness, I haven't been anywhere except this damnable opera house of mine in… how many years? I can't even tell now. I just want to forget it all, but my mind would have nothing of that. Instead, my heart calls for something else.
What does it cry for? My heart has been right and wrong before- in pursuing Christine, and then continuing in that idea when it had been overused… But now my heart begged for some other relief, not found in death, and certainly not in this rat pit.
Then I listened to what I was playing- it wasn't Opera, or at least not French Opera…
Of course. It's been long enough- I was returning home.
O.o that was crazy wasn't it?