Down
D.K. Archer
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Thin sickly clouds covered over the stars, letting them bleed thru in smudged pinpoints. Below him Paris mimicked the effects, spatters of lights mixed with the stone and paving of the great conscious city, moving even now in the dark of the night. Coaches and cabs trotted the streets among those on foot. Down among the people and the crowds the noise must have been amazing. But here, far above everything, separated from the teeming throngs of humanity, it was oddly quiet. Had any of the people down below lifted their gaze to the stars, they might have seen, standing quietly on the vast domed roof of the Paris Opera house, an odd figure dressed entirely in black.
A light but charged wind ruffled the hem of Erik's cloak. It was going to rain soon; every atom of the air proclaimed it. He sighed and leaned back against the sculpted metal that formed his only companions here, Apollo raising his lyre triumphant and two angels at his sides. They looked out with blank eyes that never closed to rest. Eyes that never quirked in grins, eyes than never cried, eyes that never aged, only watched the city pan out below and live it's life. They would watch even long after Erik was dead. Immortal, unfeeling things; sometimes Erik envied them. With no effort they could bar all emotion, feel nothing for that which had occurred before and that which would occur after. He wanted that. Though he thought himself rather successful and suppressing odd emotions that pushed their way upward there were still many times when he failed. More than often enough he woke screaming from his fitful sleep and curled against the hard sides of his coffin, sobbing.
If only.......
He didn't know words to say what he wanted, and simply pushed it from his mind. He'd become rather good at that. One, two drops fell and from the sky above, followed by others, until the grey of Apollo became spotted darkly with the rain. Below, the travelers quickened their pace, held bags and cloaks over their heads, some opening umbrellas they'd had the foresight to bring. On the near street he saw a lanky boy in middle class attire pull off his jacket and hold it over the head of a girl who, by the looks of her ragged dress, was no better off than the petty servants who scrubbed floors for the rich. But they looked blissfully happy. Erik leaned forward a bit for a better look at them, though they were still small and indistinct. The girl innocently flung her arms around the boy's neck and kissed his cheek for the gesture, and something in Erik's stomach twisted. It seemed so natural to be able to take for granted something like a kiss. The very casual contact as they hurried down the street likely meant little, as of course, why should they not enjoy the company of another person? Why should they not act and feel and do as any human being had right to do?
Except him.
He watched them a moment longer before becoming aware of the rain finally soaking thru his cloak. He ought to go back to his home before he became a soaking mess completely Pushing back wet strands of hair that had fallen to his eyes with flat palm, he turned from the statue and the city below, and began his descent to his home.
D.K. Archer
-----------
Thin sickly clouds covered over the stars, letting them bleed thru in smudged pinpoints. Below him Paris mimicked the effects, spatters of lights mixed with the stone and paving of the great conscious city, moving even now in the dark of the night. Coaches and cabs trotted the streets among those on foot. Down among the people and the crowds the noise must have been amazing. But here, far above everything, separated from the teeming throngs of humanity, it was oddly quiet. Had any of the people down below lifted their gaze to the stars, they might have seen, standing quietly on the vast domed roof of the Paris Opera house, an odd figure dressed entirely in black.
A light but charged wind ruffled the hem of Erik's cloak. It was going to rain soon; every atom of the air proclaimed it. He sighed and leaned back against the sculpted metal that formed his only companions here, Apollo raising his lyre triumphant and two angels at his sides. They looked out with blank eyes that never closed to rest. Eyes that never quirked in grins, eyes than never cried, eyes that never aged, only watched the city pan out below and live it's life. They would watch even long after Erik was dead. Immortal, unfeeling things; sometimes Erik envied them. With no effort they could bar all emotion, feel nothing for that which had occurred before and that which would occur after. He wanted that. Though he thought himself rather successful and suppressing odd emotions that pushed their way upward there were still many times when he failed. More than often enough he woke screaming from his fitful sleep and curled against the hard sides of his coffin, sobbing.
If only.......
He didn't know words to say what he wanted, and simply pushed it from his mind. He'd become rather good at that. One, two drops fell and from the sky above, followed by others, until the grey of Apollo became spotted darkly with the rain. Below, the travelers quickened their pace, held bags and cloaks over their heads, some opening umbrellas they'd had the foresight to bring. On the near street he saw a lanky boy in middle class attire pull off his jacket and hold it over the head of a girl who, by the looks of her ragged dress, was no better off than the petty servants who scrubbed floors for the rich. But they looked blissfully happy. Erik leaned forward a bit for a better look at them, though they were still small and indistinct. The girl innocently flung her arms around the boy's neck and kissed his cheek for the gesture, and something in Erik's stomach twisted. It seemed so natural to be able to take for granted something like a kiss. The very casual contact as they hurried down the street likely meant little, as of course, why should they not enjoy the company of another person? Why should they not act and feel and do as any human being had right to do?
Except him.
He watched them a moment longer before becoming aware of the rain finally soaking thru his cloak. He ought to go back to his home before he became a soaking mess completely Pushing back wet strands of hair that had fallen to his eyes with flat palm, he turned from the statue and the city below, and began his descent to his home.