Parody of the Opera
By Serena Kenobi
A/N: OK... look, I know it's been WAY WAY WAY TOO LONG since the last update, but I have a good explanation. REALLY!! I was finishing up my novel before the fall - and when everything returns to hecticness (word?). So, yes, I didn't update, but I did write a novel-length science-fiction/romance/thriller novel. GO ME! I'm going to try and get it published. Wish me luck!! But in any case, here is the next chapter. Enjoy!
Chapter Twenty-One: Project: Frisbee (Part Two)
Disclaimer: If I owned Phantom of the Opera, Raoul would be trapped in a dumpster with a beaver and a microphone. The beaver, because it would bite off all of Raoul's hair, and the microphone so we could all hear his screams. I'm evil. I know.
After Erik had finished his little rap medley, it was Christine's turn. She opened her mouth to sing, preparing to belt out a lovely tune –
"WHERE THE HECK IS MY FRISBEE?"
Christine and Erik looked at the confused audience.
"YEAH, THAT'S WHAT I SAID!" A spindly little guy in his mid-twenties was shouting into a cell phone that was as large as his black suitcase. In fact, he had to put the phone on his lap. "WHERE THE HECK IS MY FRISBEE?"
He was instantly pelted by popcorn, squeegees, and Erik plushies.
"OW! GOSH!" he screamed, glaring at everyone through his dark sunglasses. Why he was wearing sunglasses in a dark opera house no one knew. Some suspected him to be perhaps a French secret agent, but others told them that was impossible: only U.S. secret agent wore cool sunglasses like that. But then again, some others mused, the guy obviously wasn't very cool if he was stupid enough to be wearing sunglasses in a dark opera house. So, they settled on the fact that he was merely an insane whackjob who needed to get a smaller cell phone.
Christine cleared her throat and opened her mouth to sing once again.
"SAAAY YOU LOVE ME!" another voice belted out into song. Christine and Erik were startled to see Raoul, heroically jumping onto the stage, his golden locks swaying delicately in the nonexistent breeze. "CHRIIISTINNNE!! THAT"S AAAALLL IIII AAAASSSSK OF - OOOFFF!" He was abruptly interrupted by some staff members from the Erik Phans United group, who tackled him offstage.
No one took any more notice of him as he was hauled away.
Christine cleared her throat again, glaring at the audience, daring them to say something. After a tense moment, she opened her mouth slowly. Halting, she didn't sing, waiting cautiously.
"Just keep singing, just keep singing, just keep singing, singing, singing," Meg trilled cheerily as she sucked on a jolly rancher.
Madame Giry jammed her earbuds further into her ear, turned up the volume to maximum on her new iPhone and promptly downed a whole mug of Smirnoff.
Christine heard nothing and started to sing. "You have brought me…."
"To CANDYLAND!" someone in the front row screamed, hurling a Candyland box onstage. She was immediately taken down by the angry rich front-rowers.
Christine was seething, and Erik was getting worried. No one wanted to be within a ten foot – er, mile – radius of Christine when she was angry.
"You have brought me..." she tried again.
"CANDY!" the same lady screeched will being hauled away in a straight jacket.
"You have brought me..." Third time's a charm... maybe.
"A FRISBEE!" The Non-U.S./French secret agent yelled as he tried to stand up. But his cell phone wouldn't allow it - he couldn't get the dang thing off his lap. He was stuck there, and was promptly pelted once more with paintballs, little old ladies' walking canes, scooter wheels, and ketchup.
"To that moment when words run dry," Christine gritted out, glaring at the audience. "To that moment when speech disappears into silence…" she spat at the audience. "Into SILENCE!" she screamed furiously.
The audience, and Erik, jumped back ten feet.
"I have come here!" Christine shrieked. "Knowing EXACTLY the reason why! In my mind I've already imagined me murdering all of you, defenseless and silent. SILENT!" she screeched again.
Raoul, who was hiding in his box from the evil Erik Phans because he thought they would never look for him there (not very smart, but hey, did we ever give Raoul credit for having a semblance of a brain?), dove under the seat. Meanwhile, the rest of the audience had fallen completely silent. No one moved for fear of angering the prima donna even further.
Christine glared out once more at the audience and suddenly smiled sweetly at Erik. He smiled back hesitantly.
Madame Giry sighed as she stared at Christine. "And I thought Erik was the crazy one." She glanced at a stupefied, not very well hidden police officer. "You know, rumors are the Phantom is actually a woman."
Christine continued to sing, still shooting glares to the audience, and made her way up the staircase. Erik followed, still hesitant. "… When will the flames at last… consume… the AUDIENCE!" Christine sang menacingly. "Er, US," she corrected, smiling at Erik. Now he looked downright disturbed.
"Past the point of no return," they both sang. "The final threshold! The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch-"
"THEM!" Christine shouted, pointing to the audience.
"IT!" Erik corrected. "Burn! We've passed da point of no return, yo!"
"THEY'VE passed the point of no return!" Christine sang angrily, frowning at Erik.
He glanced nervously around and sang back, "But now dey've shut up, yo!"
"I don't care!" she sang back. "My tears that might have shed for their dark fate…" she glanced up at the chandelier. "Grow colder now and turn to tears of HATE!"
"WRONG LINE!" a stagehand yelled up. "That's in Act Ten!"
"Three!" another one corrected.
"THREE!" the first stagehand shouted up. He frowned. "No, Act Three was when the Phantom took Christine down to-" the second stagehand suddenly knocked him out for no reason. They had a sudden funeral right there and then.
A preacher in dark clothing stepped out onstage. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God, to witness the union of-"
"Uh, man, this is a funeral," the stagehand who had merely knocked the first man out said.
The preacher glanced down at the open casket, the unconscious stagehand, and the other stagehands who had gathered around the casket. "Oh. I see." He cleared his throat. "Dearly beloved, we gather here in the sight of God to witness the death of..."
"Carl."
"Carl. Carl was a great man," the priest said sadly. "He will be missed by all of us."
"Not really," one stagehand muttered.
"Shut up!" The priest snapped. The man glowered. "He will be missed by all of us," he continued in a wistful voice. "Especially his own family, his wife, his seventeen children-"
"Uh, he never married," another stagehand piped up. "And he had no kids."
"He took a vow of celibacy," the second stagehand told him.
The preacher glanced down at the first stagehand. "Pansy." He snorted. "In any case, he will be missed. Carl was a great stagehand. He never complained, never-"
"Actually, he complained A LOT," the second stagehand piped up. "That's why I punched 'im out, as it were. Watch, the moment he gets up, he'll start complain' of a bad headache."
"SHUT UP!" the preacher hissed.
Carl's eyes fluttered open. "Oh... my head..." he moaned.
The preacher and the second stagehand exchanged glances, and abruptly, the second stagehand punched Carl again.
"'Ey, what'd you do that for?" another stagehand asked.
The seconds stagehand-who-shall-not-be-named-in-this-story shrugged. "My first funeral. Don't want t' be cheated out of it."
The preacher sighed and closed his Bible. "All right, listen up. I didn't know Carl, nor did I want to, nor ever will want to. The only reason I came here was because to become an official preacher, I had to do one funeral. So, now Carl's dead, blah, blah, blah, may his body rest in peace, blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda, aaaand we're done." He smiled as the casket was pulled away with Carl still in it. "Drinks anyone?"
Back to the real story.
Deciding to try a different tactic, Erik sang, "Say you'll spare dem and dat you won't kill dem… let dem leave an' I will follow yo'… please don't kill dem 'cause dat is kinda MY job… but anywhere you go, hon, I'm comin', too. CHRISTINE, THAT'S WHAT I'M TELLIN'-"
And then the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the inconceivable, the indescribable, the inexpressible, the unutterable, the incommunicable, the unbelievable, the impossible, the improbable, the implausible, the incredible, the wonder-how-many-more-of-these-can-I-get-out-ible/able...
Happened.
I know, I'm evil. Hey, I TOLD YOU!
Dear Readers, I would appreciate it if would be so kind as to review. If you do not, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur! I remain, Readers, your obedient servant, OG In Training.