After the Lair

On My Own

|| The Phantom of the Opera ||

I watched helplessly as the boat crossed the lake, the exact reverse if what I wanted. The opposite of what happened the night of Hannibal...Oh, the aria Christine sang; it killed me because I knew I would think of her, even though she said goodbye.

"It's over now, the music of the night." I sang, and I vowed to never use my voice again, ever.

I crawled back to the midst of the lair.

I smashed a mirror, or three, and hid behind something. I don't recall what it was now. Their footsteps were loud and their words cutting.

Track down this murder. He must be found. Track down this murderer he must be found. Hunt down this animal runs to proud. To long he's preyed on us-but now we know the Phantom of the Opera is there. Deep down below.

They were coming. Should I let them catch me? Jail, prison, separation, I knew it well- how it felt to be behind bars with no one to talk to or to comfort you. Did I even know what comfort was? Truly? I thought so.

But no. It was never comfort that was given to me. This face caused nothing but delayed pity.

This face.

The face that killed me.

The face that cost me a mother and father.

This face...

"Come one, come all to the magic and monstrosity of the Freak of Natures Show- where hell and earth combine!"

"Mother! I want to go see the man with the sharp teeth!"

"Father, let me see the woman who can bend in every way!"

The children's screams were everywhere.

"Father, what is wrong with that boy's face?"

They were pointing at me. Mother told me they would.

"See what you do? You're a monster. A monster!" Mother hissed at me. She was so pretty, so beautiful. Why couldn't I have been like her? "Are you the master of this show?" she asked a man behind a curtain.

"Why yes, I am. What do you bring for me?" His voice was low, raspy and scary. I just wanted to go home...

"A freak, a mutant."

"Let me see," he said, pulling the curtain aside. He looked at me and I expected a scream. "He's perfect. PERFECT!" he yelled. I took a step back. No one had ever called me perfect before. No one ever would. "We shall call him the Devil's Child."

Devils...Child?

"Yes. That shall work nicely." Mother said to the man. My heart dropped.

"How much for him?" the man asked, greedily.

"It will cost you five francs."

"Five? What a bargain."

"I never want him to see me again."

"But Mother, I want to see you! Don't let me go!" I think, ah, but it's no use. She doesn't love me...No one does...No one ever would.

"What is your name, m'lady?"

"Drainley Destler."

"You may leave."

I felt my mother's harsh hand leave my shoulder and a sense of relief came over me. I was free from her at last! I could stay here, I could hide myself. I can build things-I could be of use.

"Come, you filthy piece of garbage," the man said, pulling me along.

I was an act?

I was not free.

"Please, mousier, you're hurting me."

"Shut up," he growled.

"I want to go home," I cried.

"This is your home, you demon," he laughed as he threw me in a cage.

Oh gosh, what was I to do?

**Three years later**

"Take it off, you freak."

"Take off the mask."

I couldn't...I wouldn't...

I looked at the ballerina. She was older than me. She stood with her mother, a very scary looking woman. Pity crossed both of their faces, lined in every feature. I didn't want it. I just wanted to leave. I grabbed my monkey, my only toy.

The evil man came in. He took my potato sack I used to hide...

"AHHHHHH look at it!"

"Scary!"

"DEVIL!"

Screams...

Screams..

Screams. I didn't realize that I had piece of glass in my arm. Where was it from? Where could it possibly have come from? Pain flooded my body. I tried to take it out, but cut my hand in the process. Blood spilt all over the stone floor.

I pulled on it, and cut my hand. Tears formed in my eyes.

I kept cutting myself, relieved I could feel pain, but flinched at it, nonetheless. The floor was covered in blood by the time I was done.

Was this what my life had come to? Self mutilation to feel emotions that should be natural?

She was the only thing that caused me to feel like...a man. No more, and yet no less. I needed her to come back. She would come back to me, wouldn't she?

Oh, what was the point? She was with that...that...man. She was safe. She wasn't with a monster. She didn't need me anymore. I got my time with her, and now that time was up.

My time was up.

The melodies that used to flow through my head were gone, so what was the point of music? Without my music, what was I? A freak of nature, more monster than man.

Christine was gone. What more was there to be said? It had been weeks, maybe months since everything had happened.

Maybe she missed me, somewhere in a mansion with her nice clothes and rich fiancée. Maybe she thought of me, but what did it matter? She was NEVER coming back to me.

My stomach growled, as it had been days since I last ate. I stood up, just for a crust of bread. The suit I wore, that used to fit perfectly, was loose from lack of body weight. Skinny wasn't enough to describe it. I was a skeleton.

I force fed myself done bread, but the habits I maintained caused it to come right back up.

The thought crossed my mind again.

My time is up.

Maybe it was time to end it all. To make my death the stories end.

Perhaps I could've called out to her, but the severe lack of using my voice caused for me to forget the function of how to sing, or speak.

Once again, I was condemned to the voices in my head.

But what did it matter, if I was condemned to life without her, I didn't want to live at all. I didn't want to read in the newspaper about their wedding, or their house, or the children they would no doubt be having soon enough.

I didn't want to live in a world without her by my side.

I didn't want to live.

Oh, Christine, save me now...