To celebrate 100 reviews, I bequeath unto the readers a VERY special chapter (Unfortunately for you, it comes in two separate updates).

…The Heavens sing a silent symphony,
As Orion shines for me.
And are you there, feeling the same as I
Whispering love songs to the lonely sky...
-Nouveaux

Chapter Thirty Five: The Silent Symphony, P.1

Eric

Born in sin, forever doomed to a life of the same.

My mother's sickening philosophies were a constant presence in my head. Much of the time, I could suppress them and deny their veracity in the same manner that I silenced the haunting faces of the dead.

But the past two months had lowered my usual defenses of reason. Guilt can do that to a man.

Though I often found myself doubting my right to that title. What humane man could injure children, merely to further his selfish goals? I had begun to see the logic of my mother's deranged accusations.

Sinful creature.

Unholy demon.

Abomination.

Monster.

Strange, that a few broken bones and superficial scars could destroy barriers that had held all through the darkness of creative torture and horrendous murders.

Why was my hardened heart melted by this trivial affair?

Perhaps it was merely a case of a poor reading selection for the evening. Shakespeare had been occupying my weary hours as of late. A tattered volume of Macbeth lay open on my lap, dog eared from several years of thorough use.

"Not the brightest choice, Eric." I mussed aloud. I had taken to addressing myself years ago, for lack of any other companionship.

Indeed, Macbeth's mad rambling did little to calm the multitude of voices in my fatigued skull. His cries of guilt seemed to mirror my own with an eerie degree of accuracy.

"What hands are here? Ha, they pluck out mine eyes!
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red."

"If only you could, Eric! Your eyes have seen too much. Can you pluck them out? What would we give, Eric, to be rid of these voiceless moanings in our head?"

No, William had proved himself an awful choice yet again. Instead of taking my mind off of my monotonous thoughts of remorse, the playwright had stirred them to a greater frenzy.

"Are you forever stained, Eric?" I mumbled quietly as the fire began to die down, hissing occasionally as tiny drops of water fell from the mantle.

I had had quite the time of it, trying to keep the vents of my home free of water. This spring had been particularly damp, leaving my burrow with an ever present air of sogginess that brought back brackish and bittersweet memories of De Tham, Mitra, and the magnificent Vanora, my first true love. Thoughts of that period of my life were always troubling, uncovering wounds that refused to heal and urging my mind to find new paths of contemplation. I turned to the shady ease of India and the burning sands of the later years in the east to divert my attentions. How I longed for the warm, dry air of Persia!

Perhaps this hole in the earth was a punishment from on high. I had been evicted from that delicious climate as a consequence of my mortal transgressions. The invisible blood that stained my own bony hands marked me as one doomed to the fires of hell.

But my heavy conscience traveled tonight, as it did so often, with a partner in crime. Rebellious anger stirred in my chest.

"Who are you to judge me?" Roared out of my thin, cracked lips. I leaped to my feet and the cloth bound book fell from my lap.

"Come here! Come face Eric! Brave my anger! I have no fear of a 'God' who hides away in shadows!" The dry twigs of my soul began to catch flame with the hot wrath in my heart.

"Who are you to call yourself compassionate? You curse Eric, and expect him to abide by your laws? To feel ashamed because he has broken your arbitrary statutes?" I spat with simmering contempt. Spittle flecked my buzzing lips.

"You are nothing to me! Nothing! Eric denies that you exist! Eric no longer submits to your heavy hand or your stabbing guilt!" My legs paced the long width of my little hovel as though they were not my own. I could feel the irritation of my skin painfully against the rough fabric of my trousers. The wet atmosphere of the Parisian spring always seemed to aggravate my frustratingly delicate hide from tip to toes.

I ignored the physical pain with an ease of many years. Pain was life, and to deny its reality was to deny my very existence. My body's pain had proved, nearly since birth, that I was nothing but an abomination, deserving of any grief that came my way.

Pain and music were ever present forces in the cruel joke that was my life. My earliest memories were of chastisement at the hands of the nameless nuns who had watch over my mother and I in the asylum.

But I did not know true hurt, true fear, until mother had been released from le maison des lunes.

Mother's words had haunted me ever since, provoking violence in my blood. Memories of her leather belt smarted sharply, even after all these years.

"Why are you crying? You must not cry. Crying means that you are in pain, and only real little boys feel pain. You are not real!" She would shriek, timing her blows to alternate with her shrewish voice.

"You are not real at all! You are only a nightmare, sent by God to torment me for my evil sins!"

I had learned to ignore the lash of leather on my skin.

But my mental anguish allways cried out noiselessly for release. The pain of my heart was my only claim on a share in the human race. Though my body was a twisted mockery of a man, my soul bled just as easily as any other's.

"Is this all that humanity has to offer me? Speak, damn you! Answer Eric! Is this pain the only thing that manhood will ever give me?"

Silence.

"So, you do not speak. Obviously, you fear our reaction! Well that you should, for Eric is mighty in his anger!" The heat in my chest radiated to the furthest of my extremities.

Crackling embers were the only reply.

"So be it! If you refuse to dignify me with a response, then I shall deny you as well! I am sick of waiting for you to accept me, tired of waiting for the advantages of humanity to appear!

"If I am a man, then let me be like any other man, damn you! Let me have a place in the light! Give me a wife who will touch me!"

I heard nothing besides my own shallow breathing.

"No? You refuse me? Then you seal your own fate! Henceforth, we shan't acknowledge the pain a man feels. Eric is not a man. He shall be a monster, for insults can no longer touch us. Do you hear?"

"Eric is his own God!"

With a lupine howl, I snatched up Macbeth and hurled it into the dim flames. It would serve as my freakish offering to the dark powers of whatever weird sisters guided my fate.

"With you gone," I addressed the bright cackle of the fire, "So goes my 'damned spot'! I have done what William couldn't, for I have escaped without any stain! Eric refuses to feel such maddening remorse!"

With that, I fled my pit in the bowels of the earth, seeking air on the roof of my opera house by means of my rat tunnels. In the dim stupor of the early morning's light, I breathed deeply, holding in the cool breath and savoring my freedom. Silent solitude was a sweet release from the prisons of my mind.

But soft murmurs and the telltale creak of a door suddenly told me that I was not alone. Who dared to intrude upon my privacy?

Someone would die this day!

Dedicated Bananas in Pajamas, for being the only one to get it right! And henceforth, I dub thee Kipper. (I must have a weird fixation with fish or something. Oh well.)

Author's Notes: ♪The title is taken from a BEAUTIFUL song called 'Maybe Tomorrow' by a white metal band from the eighties called Nouveaux. You should look it up! It ought to make better sense by next chapter … (Oh the suspense! She grins wickedly.)

♫You know, I've found that lately I am always writing this story while watching TV shows, either Monk or Law and Order. Monk IS the prince of darkness! (much laughter. If you don't watch the show, just don't ask.) Maybe all that death, murder and mayhem is why all my chapters are so full of angst as of late? (I love Disher. He's so utterly hopeless. I'll be your girl Lt. Disher!)

♪Who ever said that Eric's mommy was a sane person? It would explain a few things, no? And some thing for you to chew on: Why do you think that she was institutionalized? (The ANTZ! They returneth! They march ever on! Muahaha.) As for Eric, I think his God complex is an endearing quality.

Responses: Kipper: Bloody coup, huh? Sorry dear, but I shall oppose you. Well, at least on the part about England, as I like Liz. But you are welcome to overthrow America, as I don't care for the republicans or the democrats. As for your coughing, it has been duly noted. :D

ALC: Who's on to me? The STALKERS? You are a stalker! Grwar! Oh, never mind. Don't give up on writing, dear! I shall quote a wise old adage for you: If at first you don't succeed, try try again. (If that doesn't work, erase all the evidence!)

Displaced Trousers: Your friend must be one of my kindred spirits. Heeere's Eric! And yes, she has been kidnapped. Poor Leah, I just keep causing her angst. As for your blindness, that is the whole idea! I shall infect the world with a plague of ANTZ IN YOUR PANTZ!

JPT: Sorry, but no cigar. I love you anyways! Yeah, my mom surprises me sometimes. She can be pretty neat.

Avid: No, you didn't get it either. Try again:D As for concerts, AWESOME! (I'm going to Lifefest this weekend! Big Squee!)