I know these chapters are short, but I'll try to get them out quickly to compensate for their length. I have great ideas and hope to put them to use quickly.
Erik sat in the back of the cafeteria, hoping his presence would go unnoticed. His dark clothing helped him camouflage more into the crowd, but he couldn't hide his mask. His mask hid something far more horrible, the reason for his years of torture, his face. He kept himself always, if at all possible, at a careful distance from the rest of the human race. He didn't want another year of taunting, teasing, and constant attempts to remove his mask for another cheep laugh. Erik had never felt any sort of kindness or compassion from any human, even his own mother.
Using his peripheral vision, he saw a girl approaching his table. He kept his head down, hoping against hope she would turn and alter her course. Yet, she persisted and came up next to him.
"Hey." she said. He continued to look down at his awful excuse for food. "Maybe if I keep my head down and act like I don't notice her, she'll go away," he thought desperately.
"Mind if I sit here?" the girl asked, innocently.
"Yes, I do mind if you sit here." he snapped. "Go bother someone else and leave me be!" Oh, how dearly he wished to say these words. Instead, he made a small, indifferent movement with his hand, as though waving away a fly.
Keeping his head downward, he surveyed the girl out of the corner of his eye. To his view, she was yet another starving adolescent seeking the acceptance of an egotistical mass. "Rather pretty, though." he thought, observing her flowing dark curly hair and fair skin. The minutes passed in silence, as Erik began to speculate about his new companion.
"She seems kind enough, for the moment. Never been outside Paris, I'll wager." he thought. "Never teased much, rather shy, perhaps she's trying to make friends in her new surroundings." His musings were cut short by her sudden outburst.
"What's your name?" He glanced up at her, observing in a split second soft, hazel eyes.
"Erik." he answered. Despite himself, he was curious about this stranger who had taken an interest in him. "What's yours?"
"Myra." she replied. Out of curiosity, he racked his memory for a momenttrying to remember what the name meant.
"Myra." he repeated. "It means 'quiet song'." he thought. "What a perfect name for someone like her." Erik treated her name like a preciousstone, he wanted to remember the name of the first person who spoke to him without insulting him.To Erik's discomfort, Myra persisted in conversation.
"So, do you like music?" she asked. Myra had, unknowingly, touched on something very meaningful to him. The word music had so many different tones, shapes and forms to him. He sat up, and turned to talk with her. His first real conversation outside his immediate family.
"Yes." he answered thoughtfully. This new encounter almost brought a smile to his face for the first time. "I like music a lot."