I've always been a fan of The Phantom of the Opera, though I never got to see the actual musical since I was only 5 when it came to Singapore and my grandma wouldn't let me go. But recently I managed to catch the movie and have fallen completely in love with it, and therefore I felt like I would like to write this. It's based on what I saw in the movie, not the book, because I haven't read the book yet due to the fact that I have only managed to get my hands on a copy the day before.
This is from the point of view of the Phantom. Enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the rights to The Phantom of the Opera, much as I would like to.
The Curtain Falls
The setting suncast the cemetery in an eerie orange glow, and the dried leaves rustled as the wind blew them gently across the cold, hard ground. Cold and hard, just like those who lay in this enchanted kingdom of death. This cursed place, where silence reigned and there was no place for music. No place for voices and spirits to take flight. No place for hearts to soar. Here, hearts pounded heavily in the chests of bitter mourners, crying for those whose hearts were dead. Dead, just like that cold, hard ground.
Of all the tombstones in this emotionless place, he felt as if he was standing before the cruellest one. That block of stone, so lifeless, so different from the soul of the one who lay beneath it. The stone said nothing of her, nothing of her beauty, her perfection, her music, or her spirit. Strangers would walk right past it when they came, not knowing that they had just passed an angel. It hardly seemed justified.
Justice. He barely knew what it was; the word seemed foreign in his mind. It seemed to have come from a language he did not speak. Justice required an understanding he felt that no one possessed. Not even Christine. She had not understood. She had not seen the everlasting love he offered, only the prison, the cage. A soft sigh escaped his lips, filled with the sadness of the world. She had not understood. She would never understand, now.
He was vaguely aware of the tears that stung his eyes, yet that hated stone stood out before him clearer than sapphire skies on a cloudless day, or fresh spring water shimmering in sunlight. It made as if to consume him completely, to drag him down, down, down, always down into the bottomless pit of despair and heartbreak. Salvation and healing were impossible; he was cursed.
Old age had brought no consolation, death was the only answer, the one thing he awaited. Music would bring no release; it reminded him too much of her loveliness. The comfort of dreamless sleep was ephemeral, if it came at all. Endless agony had brought him here. He had just one chance, one chance to say goodbye. One chance to bring closure into his life. He had to let go, before it drove him completely mad. Holding on this way brought no answers, only endless questions and tortures.
He looked down at the rose he held, one finger stroking its blood-red petals. The colour seemed so out of place in this graveyard made up of shades of greys, yet it could not have compared with the sweet redness of her lips.
His gaze then travelled down to the ring, so carefully tied to the rose with a delicate black ribbon. Just looking at the ring brought back all the memories. It was such a simple, pretty little thing, yet it seemed to hold all the emotions; hate, jealousy, love, passion, fear, misery, resignation… Everything in such a little thing. For years it had not left his side, reminding him every day of the past. But now it was time to end it.
Kneeling, he laid the rose gently by the tombstone, and stayed that way, his head bowed. The wind found its way beneath his cape, blowing little patterns, making it shift, yet he remained motionless. For that moment, he was neither ugly nor beautiful, neither evil nor good, neither a devil nor an angel, neither in Hell or in Heaven. For that moment, he simply existed. No hateful word crossed his mind, no strong desire shook his soul. For the first time in years, he was calm. At peace.
Then the playful wind brought to his ears the sound of a carriage; someone was coming. It was time. He got to his feet, and with one last lingering look, vanished into the shadows of his dreary solitude.
And the curtain falls.