AN: Ha, ha! I said that this would be up last night, but it WASN'T!
Me: And the funny part is that even though this took a "long time", it's still pretty short!
AN: I know! Isn't that hilarious?
Erik: *in closet*
Me: Okay, so you guys might want to know when the next one will be up. I'm thinking Friday night. I'm not trying to lie, here. You see, I'm just having writer's block. Erik keeps hiding in the closet, so my muse keeps losing connection.
Erik: You are referring to those cellular phones, aren't you?
Me: Two things: 1) No, I'm not referring to cell phones, and 2) You sound like an old man.
Erik: I'm not exactly young, am I?
Me: No, I suppose you aren't... oh, well, on with the story!
Erik: Mon dieu, what do you have in store for me?
Me: MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (etc.)
Erik: Er...
AN: Okay, since Erik is a teensy bit creeped out and this "Me" person is laughing like a maniac, I guess the story will start! Enjoy!
AN #2: But wait! Has anyone noticed?
AN: Noticed what?
AN #2: That this author's note is at the TOP instead of the BOTTOM!
AN: Oh! I just realized that!
AN #2: We've had too many author's notes ruin the beautiful cliffhanger endings, so we got moved up here.
AN: Okay, that's fine with me. Story, start now, please!
He was left alone for the following week. Deciding that he was finally hungry, Erik left his house at the break of dawn for the food market. Recalling the fact that his mother always left the house on foot, he decided that the town probably wasn't too far away, and so he set out on foot.
When Erik stepped into the market, nobody looked up at him, most likely because there was barely anyone there to gawk. He smiled, and knew full well that the small amount of people there couldn't see it, as he was wearing a full-face mask. Abandoning his spot in the doorway, he approached the clerk at the counter. The boy, probably only twenty years of age, looked up at him in surprise, but quickly shook himself and said the proper greeting.
"Bonjour, Monsieur! How can I help you today?"
Erik looked at the boy, those dark holes called eyes scrutinizing his every being. After what felt like an eternity, he replied.
"One loaf of bread."
"That is it? Nothing else?"
"Nothing else."
"Okay... that will be ten francs."
Paying the money, the masked man left the market. Why did people always have to question his diet? Food, to him, was something disgusting; disturbing. He forced it down his throat every week or so, but had no clue why. Why live? There was nothing to live for, now that Christine was gone. Oh, Christine...
Arriving once more at his house, Erik sat at the dining table. It was seated for three. He imagined his mother, newly wed to his father, preparing this room for the perfect little family he was supposed to be living in.
Madeleine had lost her husband. When she finally had her first son, it turned out to be a monster.
Looking at the situation at this perspective, Erik felt some sympathy for her. She had just wanted a family with no problems. After she had had him, she had taken all her sadness and turned it into anger. The poor woman, Erik frowned guiltily. He had hated her for about half a century, and only after she was dead and gone did he realize that he loved her.
But had she loved him?
Erik answered this question easily; she had not left with that doctor, Etienne Barye. She had chosen to stay with her son.
But then he had ran away.
Guilt flooded through him. His mother had finally decided that she loved him, but before she could show that, he was gone. His final words to his mother were of sadness and hatred;
Forget me...
Madeleine had not forgotten him. She remembered him until the day she died. She had cared about him.
She had cared about me... my mother, who had refused my one birthday wish, who showed me nothing but cruelness, cared for me... so unlike Christine.
Anger boiled through his veins, but not at his mother. No, his mother was a good woman. The anger was at his darling Christine Daae... or was it Christine de Chagney?
That boy had taken the love of his life away. Erik had given her her voice, her enchantingly beautiful voice. He had molded it together with his. Her voice was his, so why couldn't the rest of her be his?
Looking back at the bread, Erik grimaced in disgust. He stood up and left the room.
Eating could wait.
His current necessity, however, could not. So, with that, he took out some paper and returned to the piano bench.
Composing was something that Erik would die without. It made him feel handsome, as handsome as any man out on the streets at that current moment. He had shared this gift of his by writing it for his student.
This time, however, was not one for Christine. He vowed right then and there to never make one for another living being.
This time was for his mother.