This is my first Phantom fic and I've very proud. Um...I don't really have
much to say... but I feel like talking so I'm not sure what to do, er...
your probably really annoyed at my insane and pointless babbling...lemme
just skip to the part about the reviews... no flames please, but I ADORE,
PRAISE and LOVE REVIEWS!!!!!!!!! So please. Another thing- is it just me or
does my title suck? I hate titles, mine *always* suck, no matter what.
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A Tale from Childhood
Erik sat in front of his organ, lazily fingering the keys. He didn't know what the weather was like outside, but it had to have been raining because that's what he felt like. Rain. Gloomy yet repetitive and boring. There wasn't any excitement, nothing worth doing, and, of course, nothing uplifting.
Erik stood up in attempt to break his boredom by at least being somewhat active. Not knowing why, he decided to a tour around his "house" because there really was nothing better to do.
As he walked, Erik noticed a small sack shoved in a corner. It was full of old papers, most of them stained yellow, and some little knick- knacks that were far from new. He remembered the sack and its contents vaguely; he hadn't looked in there for a long time, probably not for decades. Curious, Erik reached in and pulled out a piece of paper. A quick scan of it and he realized that it was a story, written by him. Probably one of his first judging by the straggling, uneven handwriting.
Erik felt a strong mixture of curiosity and nostalgia. He had trained himself to block out most of his memories, seeming as he had no reason or desire to remember them. He sat down and started to read the story:
Frederique's Friend
Once upon a time there was boy named Frederique. He lived in a big house with his mother and all of the servants. His mother had never loved him because he was ugly and no one else liked him because he was ugly. Frederique only had one friend named Lamar. Lamar was blind and didn't mind that Frederique was ugly. When Frederique was sad he would go to him and he would say "it's okay, one day your life we'll be good and you'll have lots of friends."
One day Frederique couldn't find Lamar. He asked his mother where Lamar was and she said "He's sick, don't you pay attention to anything going on?" After a few days Frederique asked where Lamar was again and his mother said "He's dead." Frederique cried for weeks and weeks because now he had no friends. But one day as he was walking through the house he saw a piece of paper. He picked it up. It said "Dear Frederique, I am dying, but I want you to know that you're a wonderful and smart boy and you have great potential. Never let anything anyone tells you stop you. And one day I know you'll have a good life if you try hard enough. I know it. Love, Lamar" Frederique decided to take Lamar's advice, and he started to plan. He was going to be great and have lots of friends and maybe even a wife. He was going to have a wonderful life!
The End
Erik put the paper down. He remembered his only friend, the blind servant, who had died all too quickly. Erik thought about how often he wrote short stories like that, they were his way of keeping a diary.
Erik bit his lip. The story had released a flood of memories, a flood of emotions of his childhood. Erik felt his eyes watering as he picked up a pen and wrote at the bottom of the page "but this prophecy never cam true" he paused "nor will it ever."
FIN.
A Tale from Childhood
Erik sat in front of his organ, lazily fingering the keys. He didn't know what the weather was like outside, but it had to have been raining because that's what he felt like. Rain. Gloomy yet repetitive and boring. There wasn't any excitement, nothing worth doing, and, of course, nothing uplifting.
Erik stood up in attempt to break his boredom by at least being somewhat active. Not knowing why, he decided to a tour around his "house" because there really was nothing better to do.
As he walked, Erik noticed a small sack shoved in a corner. It was full of old papers, most of them stained yellow, and some little knick- knacks that were far from new. He remembered the sack and its contents vaguely; he hadn't looked in there for a long time, probably not for decades. Curious, Erik reached in and pulled out a piece of paper. A quick scan of it and he realized that it was a story, written by him. Probably one of his first judging by the straggling, uneven handwriting.
Erik felt a strong mixture of curiosity and nostalgia. He had trained himself to block out most of his memories, seeming as he had no reason or desire to remember them. He sat down and started to read the story:
Frederique's Friend
Once upon a time there was boy named Frederique. He lived in a big house with his mother and all of the servants. His mother had never loved him because he was ugly and no one else liked him because he was ugly. Frederique only had one friend named Lamar. Lamar was blind and didn't mind that Frederique was ugly. When Frederique was sad he would go to him and he would say "it's okay, one day your life we'll be good and you'll have lots of friends."
One day Frederique couldn't find Lamar. He asked his mother where Lamar was and she said "He's sick, don't you pay attention to anything going on?" After a few days Frederique asked where Lamar was again and his mother said "He's dead." Frederique cried for weeks and weeks because now he had no friends. But one day as he was walking through the house he saw a piece of paper. He picked it up. It said "Dear Frederique, I am dying, but I want you to know that you're a wonderful and smart boy and you have great potential. Never let anything anyone tells you stop you. And one day I know you'll have a good life if you try hard enough. I know it. Love, Lamar" Frederique decided to take Lamar's advice, and he started to plan. He was going to be great and have lots of friends and maybe even a wife. He was going to have a wonderful life!
The End
Erik put the paper down. He remembered his only friend, the blind servant, who had died all too quickly. Erik thought about how often he wrote short stories like that, they were his way of keeping a diary.
Erik bit his lip. The story had released a flood of memories, a flood of emotions of his childhood. Erik felt his eyes watering as he picked up a pen and wrote at the bottom of the page "but this prophecy never cam true" he paused "nor will it ever."
FIN.