Misshapen Martyr
He felt the carriage falling onto its side and the horses' frightened whinnies and Christine's scream blended in his ears along with the shouts of the angry people behind them. Scrambling out, he ran to pick up Christine, but the people were too close. It wasn't her they wanted—she would be safe, and perhaps he would meet up with her again later. Running towards the canal, he looked back over his shoulder, seeing, through the pursuing people, Raoul had gone to Christine's side and was inspecting to see if she was hurt, which she didn't seem to be. At least there was a comfort in that.
So, this is what it's come to…..
They chased him down the stone steps.
Erik will never give in; you can't make him. Kill him, but then, you will have his body, not his obedience!
The steps stopped at the edge of the canal. Below him, the water rushed angrily, chilled, icy water, waiting to receive any unfortunate one who fell—or was thrown—into it. He turned to the crowd and it stopped. He held up his hand and, as though it was a great snake, the crowd slithered back in horror—what would he do? He opened his hand—nothing.
Ignorant fools! Did you think Erik would run if he had such a weapon?
He threw his head back with a chilling laugh.
Who has the last laugh now, eh? So, this is what it's come to! Erik must be the slaughtered one!
He spread his arms out as though they were nailed to a plank of wood, holding them out just before the mob devoured him.
You may say the reason to justify his death is because he is abhorrent to look at, maybe, also, that he himself killed, but Erik knows the truth. Erik dared to challenge you—Erik was a threat. Erik wrote his masterpiece even though he knew no one would hear it. And Erik dared to love—something you say his hideousness canceled his right to. So, kill his body, if you like, but you will never kill his spirit….. She will always have Erik in her mind, always hear his voice in her head, forever hear his song. You can't kill Erik…..you never will…..never.
He felt them push him. The icy water was a welcome relief to the burning pain of his wounds, of the pounding of their weapons…..
"They
who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who
dream only by night."
—Edgar Allan Poe
