A/N: Read and Review... (Sighs) I'm so tired (busy weekend) but anyway sorry for not updating for a while...
Erik climbed a secret stair up to the roof of the Opera House. Night had fallen over Paris. It was a deep kind of darkness, where the clouds hung low to the tops of church steeples as if it was preparing to let loose torrents of rain. He looked over the top of the rail gazing at the lights that made up Paris. He blinked at its bright intensity. Somewhere out in the city there were drunks who were happier than he. He had darkness as his friend, what more could a man ask for? He sighed. Much was left to be desired, after the cold night was nothing like Christina's warm hand on his shoulder. He knew she longed to rip his mask away, what woman wasn't curious about the silken mask he wore? It was as if there was a prize behind the mask, all you had to do to get it was rip the mask away. It was a horrible game that he had played all his life. Running, and hiding in the shadows. He shuddered. The looks people gave him when he did show himself. Could blatant hatred be felt in one glance? His time with the gypsies had been just this way. He was only a boy submitted to the terrors of the unknown. No kindness shown to him at anytime...
A boy lay curled up in the corner of a cage, barely big enough to hold his sleeping form. A small hand lay over the left side of his face. Erik looked so innocent, so peaceful just lying there sleeping. His black hair waved around his forehead gently brushing his brow. His chest gently rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. But any one person could have known there was something was dreadfully wrong with his situation. His right knee was bandaged in a crude cloth that was soaked with dried blood. His arms were covered with black and blue bruises that were tinged with a yellowish-green coloring. His face was covered with cuts that oozed pus as if they'd been irritated so much that they'd become infected. His lips were chapped and bleeding for the lack of water. He was thin and his small ribs made grotesque appearances under his thin dirty shirt. His eyes flew open revealing intense blue orbs, though one was a bit darker than the other. He sat up as though sensing approaching danger. His hand dropped off his face showing the face which he was imprisoned for. Voices murmured in the darkness. Most of the gypsies in the encampment were already sleeping. He edged back into a darker corner of his cage. A grating noise could be heard as someone turned a key in the lock of his cage. His heart leapt! Were they letting him go? His heart plummeted to the ground as rough hands grabbed him from the cage. He willingly let them take him. What good would it do to fight them? He would just be punished more forcefully. He had not performed as they had wished today. He'd cowered in the shadows not letting paying customers get a good look at his face. He was a sideshow. That would be his profession the rest of his life if they did not let him go. They were furious with him. He could feel it in the way the men's hands shook with anger as they carried him to that familiar stake in the ground. They tied his hands to the harsh wooden stake, and ripped his shirt from his back. The bite of the whip into his flesh brought tears to his eyes, but he wouldn't let a sound escape from his mouth. He wouldn't give them the pleasure of hearing his cries of pain. He drew in a shivering sob. The cold wind made the feel of the whip's intensity grow worse. He felt hot tears surge down his face. Agony rippled through his small frame. There, they were finally done. They'd only given him five lashes this time. He supposed they thought him too weak to endure a full ten this time. Anger welled up in him. When they untied him from the stake, he ripped away from them with sudden strength they did not think he had. With his hands still bound he ran through the darkness, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His captors dashed after him, he could hear them tearing through the brushes and high grass after him. On and on they went, running in the darkness. Erik did not think he had much more strength left in him to run. Suddenly his foot found a hidden hole in the muddy ground, and he fell hard on his face and chest. The force of the crash knocked the breath out of him. He lay on the ground for what seemed like hours, panting, trying to regain oxygen to his lungs. The gypsies ran past him in the dark. He felt like he was breathing in fire into his lungs, his injuries plagued him so. His back began to sting and ache terribly. Waves of delirium passed over him. A tear rolled off his cheek and hit a muddy puddle. The only sound was his heavy breathing, and a soft patter of rain as it fell. The pain began to overwhelm him, he began to lose consciousness...
Erik came to several hours later, still lying in the same spot hidden under a willow tree in high grass. He dug his hands into the mud. The ground was a welcome feeling after living in a cage for many years. Realization hit him full force. He was free! Then as he lay there he began to think. He might be free, but what was freedom without food, clothing, or shelter. With his face he would never find rest or a home. He would never find love...
Erik climbed a secret stair up to the roof of the Opera House. Night had fallen over Paris. It was a deep kind of darkness, where the clouds hung low to the tops of church steeples as if it was preparing to let loose torrents of rain. He looked over the top of the rail gazing at the lights that made up Paris. He blinked at its bright intensity. Somewhere out in the city there were drunks who were happier than he. He had darkness as his friend, what more could a man ask for? He sighed. Much was left to be desired, after the cold night was nothing like Christina's warm hand on his shoulder. He knew she longed to rip his mask away, what woman wasn't curious about the silken mask he wore? It was as if there was a prize behind the mask, all you had to do to get it was rip the mask away. It was a horrible game that he had played all his life. Running, and hiding in the shadows. He shuddered. The looks people gave him when he did show himself. Could blatant hatred be felt in one glance? His time with the gypsies had been just this way. He was only a boy submitted to the terrors of the unknown. No kindness shown to him at anytime...
A boy lay curled up in the corner of a cage, barely big enough to hold his sleeping form. A small hand lay over the left side of his face. Erik looked so innocent, so peaceful just lying there sleeping. His black hair waved around his forehead gently brushing his brow. His chest gently rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. But any one person could have known there was something was dreadfully wrong with his situation. His right knee was bandaged in a crude cloth that was soaked with dried blood. His arms were covered with black and blue bruises that were tinged with a yellowish-green coloring. His face was covered with cuts that oozed pus as if they'd been irritated so much that they'd become infected. His lips were chapped and bleeding for the lack of water. He was thin and his small ribs made grotesque appearances under his thin dirty shirt. His eyes flew open revealing intense blue orbs, though one was a bit darker than the other. He sat up as though sensing approaching danger. His hand dropped off his face showing the face which he was imprisoned for. Voices murmured in the darkness. Most of the gypsies in the encampment were already sleeping. He edged back into a darker corner of his cage. A grating noise could be heard as someone turned a key in the lock of his cage. His heart leapt! Were they letting him go? His heart plummeted to the ground as rough hands grabbed him from the cage. He willingly let them take him. What good would it do to fight them? He would just be punished more forcefully. He had not performed as they had wished today. He'd cowered in the shadows not letting paying customers get a good look at his face. He was a sideshow. That would be his profession the rest of his life if they did not let him go. They were furious with him. He could feel it in the way the men's hands shook with anger as they carried him to that familiar stake in the ground. They tied his hands to the harsh wooden stake, and ripped his shirt from his back. The bite of the whip into his flesh brought tears to his eyes, but he wouldn't let a sound escape from his mouth. He wouldn't give them the pleasure of hearing his cries of pain. He drew in a shivering sob. The cold wind made the feel of the whip's intensity grow worse. He felt hot tears surge down his face. Agony rippled through his small frame. There, they were finally done. They'd only given him five lashes this time. He supposed they thought him too weak to endure a full ten this time. Anger welled up in him. When they untied him from the stake, he ripped away from them with sudden strength they did not think he had. With his hands still bound he ran through the darkness, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His captors dashed after him, he could hear them tearing through the brushes and high grass after him. On and on they went, running in the darkness. Erik did not think he had much more strength left in him to run. Suddenly his foot found a hidden hole in the muddy ground, and he fell hard on his face and chest. The force of the crash knocked the breath out of him. He lay on the ground for what seemed like hours, panting, trying to regain oxygen to his lungs. The gypsies ran past him in the dark. He felt like he was breathing in fire into his lungs, his injuries plagued him so. His back began to sting and ache terribly. Waves of delirium passed over him. A tear rolled off his cheek and hit a muddy puddle. The only sound was his heavy breathing, and a soft patter of rain as it fell. The pain began to overwhelm him, he began to lose consciousness...
Erik came to several hours later, still lying in the same spot hidden under a willow tree in high grass. He dug his hands into the mud. The ground was a welcome feeling after living in a cage for many years. Realization hit him full force. He was free! Then as he lay there he began to think. He might be free, but what was freedom without food, clothing, or shelter. With his face he would never find rest or a home. He would never find love...