Wow… seventeen reviews in three days… that is far more than I expected to receive for the first story I had the courage to post here on ff.net…
The Phantom Parisienne: Thank you, my loyal reviewer! You write me very sweet reviews and have given me a lot of inspiration/encouragement and for that I truly thank you – it is not easy to motivate me but you have succeeded in doing so. I offer you my fondest gratitude for comparing my phic to something poetic. I hope you continue to enjoy reading this story to the end…
Kates: I'm happy some people can actually see the inspiration I gained from Leroux's novel… Yes, my muse seems to be nocturnal in its habits and acts like the imperfect man – lazy, not dedicated, stubborn, forgetful and too hard to figure out. It is the embodiment of "changeable!" As for Erik's and Christine's happiness… we shall most definitely see… And thanks for your applause and consideration!
Claire Starling: Thank you so much – Sometimes I surprise myself too, I'm very happy you like my story and I'm trying to continue but my muse seems to be wrapped up in some other time-consuming task… just when I thought that I might actually have its full attention to the end… *sigh*
Lavendar: Thank you for your lovely review.
Ash: Also, thanks and I hope I can pay attention long enough to write the next few chapters… we shall see…
maelinya: I don't love putting Erik through the most explicit torture, as such… but I always seem to write when I'm in a mood so it's just part of my process… and I find that sometimes making him happy would not be him, at all… Of course, there are exceptions to every rule and maybe I'll use one… When you said that I "make the intangible tangible" I nearly cried in happiness – it is such a lovely way to describe something, though I did not deserve it. And I like your analogy, too.
Badly Drawn Girl2: Thank you for encouraging me to write more chapters… I suppose this is why I never seem to finish stories when I don't let people read them – because no-one can ask me to continue or tell me what they liked about it…
I hope you all know my immense appreciation for those of you who have reviewed! You're all so kind to me! Thank you!
Chapter 5 – Is Hell a state of mind…?
"…And through it all she offers me protection,
A lot of love and affection,
Whether I'm right or wrong…"
ErikHumming…
Can I really hear humming…? But I thought my punishment was silence… I thought the price of my crimes was my music… But this humming is melodic in its own right, and it is not as though it is out of key… it is perfect. This is not torture… so why can I hear it…?
Humming…
It is definitely there and it is definitely beautiful, but am I imagining it? Has my recently music-starved mind begun to create scores and play them in my head as it did when I was alive? No, it can't have… if God has the ability to deprive me of music then surely He could make sure it would extend to my imagination… Or is He not strong enough to break away that part of my spirit? Is God that weak?
Humming…
The least He could do if He is weak, is make the humming off-key or the source tone-deaf… So why has He not? Why has He given me this gift of tune only to take away everything else…? Actually, I realised then that silence is not the whole of my greatest fear, as such… being plagued by horrendous "music" could be worse… clashing notes… discordant rubbish… randomly picked pitches… conflicting semi-tones… If that had been my punishment it would have done its job far quicker than silence. So is it just that God is inept at giving souls true torment…? He could have made me tone-deaf, so that every note I heard would sound pretty much the same… I knew if I was not already dead and that happened to me it would succeed in killing me faster than a knife through the heart – though, perhaps they would both feel the same…
Humming…
This is torture in itself, is it not? Being ignorant to the reason it is there… And it is not as though I even tried to hear that humming… can I be sure that I made it? Concentrate, Erik! Try to hear what is making the noise – try to find the source in your head…
Humming…
I was sure of it… the rich-toned crystal notes in a soprano's pitch were not coming from my own mind… they could not have since I did not know the tune they constructed – and to point out the blatantly obvious, I am not a soprano… Yes, I know I could have made the notes that high in my head but it hardly seemed likely that I would want to hum in that pitch…
What could it be?! I thought I had to go through Hell alone… And why did it not only have a source, but also it seemed to have a direction?! Why was it coming from my left side?!
Singing…
That… voice is but Heaven itself, is it not? That perfect sound could be nothing less… and yet, I know it… I've heard it. What's it singing…?
"Sempre Ricordo?" Yes… yes, it is! But, but… but, that's Christine's voice… nevertheless, it is not mocking me! It is singing for me! I'm not in Heaven so how can this be?!
Abruptly, the voice rounded-off its last note, in a way only Christine could do without seeming rushed, and sighed as though it were anxious for some sort of reaction that I couldn't quite give. "Oh, Erik, I know you probably never hear me when I talk to you now… but, I feel compelled to just try to get you to respond. Everyday, I feel as though I'm too late… that you are gone… but you have been lying here for over a week in this state and you still live. I feel like Pandora 's Box – I didn't realise the damage that I could cause and now only hope remains inside…"
In all the time I have known Christine Daaé, I had never heard her speak her mind quite so well, never heard her use such a parallel. But what is "hope" really? Isn't it just the power of being cheerful in circumstances which we know to be desperate…? "You've… been hold…ing… out on… me, my dear," I managed to stutter. But is it real? Am I back from Hell? Was I ever there…?
The sharp intake of breath was apparent to me and I knew she had not expected an answer. A sudden tingling overtook my entire form and I shuddered under the discomforting feeling it gave. My limbs had gone from dull, lifeless-feeling blocks of ice to the flesh I was so used to… adorned by a prickling, fiery sensation. What was happening to me?! I could feel again?!
"Oh, Erik… I thought you had…" Christine broke off.
Thought I'd… thought I'd what…? "…died?" I suggested, seeing as it was the only subject I could think of that she would shy away from.
"Don't use such harsh words, Erik… I thought you had… 'passed away'," she continued quietly. Is 'die' really that harsh a word?! I can think of worse, my dear… hate… silence… fear… Hell…
"Poetic allusions aside, both outcomes, Christine, are rather consistent."
I could imagine her shrugging at my answer and she moved on, not wishing to continue in the subject of death. "Why won't you look at me? Now that you're awake…"
I didn't answer for my thoughts clouded my mind further: Well if I'm not in Hell, then did I really die…? Did I come back because I had been taught a lesson…? Then, is Hell supposed to not last…? Is it supposed to be there only to make people change…? Do all evil people get sent there until their souls become benevolent, and then they get to finish their lives in the human world…? And when they die again, do they get sent to Heaven, instead…?
So is Hell just a path on which there is the means to be redirected to heaven…?
Is Hell a state of mind…?
There was one more disheartening question in my mind…
"But, Christine, why can't I see you…?
A/N: Next chapter is in Christine's POV and I hope to make it better than this one but I was in a "destroy anything and everything that gets in my way" kind of mood when I wrote it so we'll have to see…
Everyone who reviewed, I would like to thank again for cheering me up since I have been in a mood all summer as my new English teacher doesn't seem to care for my style of writing… She has, in fact, "asked" (I mean "commanded") me to "change it to a less formal manner" and to "be less verbose!" (Personally, I think she replaced the best teacher in the world and didn't deserve to…). In any case, I feel more uplifted now and I will find a way to prove her wrong… (Yes, I know… I should lay-off on the whole "spitefulness" thing… but revenge is so sweet – and what would be sweeter than passing my GCSEs using my own writing style?!). Oh, poetic justice, indeed…!
And I'll leave you for today with a quote I find oddly appropriate:
"Life may change, but it may fly not;
Hope may vanish, but can die not;
Truth be veiled, but still it burneth;
Love repulsed, - but it returneth!"
(Shelley, Percy Bysshe – Hellas, I)