Phantom of the opera Phantom's P.O.V.

Image Credit: Elaina B., Waterloo, NY The author's comments: this is part one of phantom of the opera from the phantom's point of veiw. PREFACE I brushed my fingers through her hair, whispering words of passion sweetly into her ear. "Christine I love you." She looked at me sweetly and took my face in her hands. Soft fingers trailed down my good cheek caressingly as the other hand held my masked side. "I'm sorry" she cried as she tore off my mask. Screams emitted from the crowd and all around me there were cries of horror. "Christine why?" I asked, tormented by my own foolishness. Kicking a lever I jumped off the stage's prop bridge with her in my arms. ************************************************************************************* Part 1 Her sweet voice fills my ears as she vocalizes. Higher, higher the notes ring through my being. It is only her and me. Nothing else exists. No pain, no fear, no loneliness. She is my muse. The source of my music. I love her and am with her always. Yet I am also separated from her always. I have never met her in person, she has never seen my face. I am her teacher, her angel of music. Suddenly her song stops. What is the meaning of this? We were practicing! Then, I hear HIM. "Christine it really is you!" he exclaims. "I thought when I saw you on stage tonight that it had to be you! My little lotte, how you've grown." How dare he interrupt MY practice! How dare he look at her with eyes full of longing! She is mine! Mine alone! "Raoul! Oh how I've missed the time we shared!" Christine tells him. So his name is Raoul? I seethe in silence from my hidden tunnel behind her mirror. "How we'd always make up stories to pass the time…" He begins. "And how we'd sneak a few of father's chocolates up into the attic…" "Ah haha!" he chuckles. "Come Christine! We shall go to dinner, I'll bring up the carriage while you get ready." "Wait I can't" she calls after him. "Of course you can! I'll be up in five minutes!" he shuts the door behind him as he leaves to get the carriages. "No!" she screams. My anger finally overtakes my patience and I lashout in a flood of pain and furry. "How dare this fool of a boy presume to court you! Ignorant! Stupid! You are not to have romantic affiliations as long as I teach you!" "Yes angel, I'm sorry. I was caught in a moment of weakness. Please stay with me master!" She begs softly. My anger ebbs as I see tears shimmering on her cheeks, her small face bent in shame. "It is time we met. it is time to see your angel." I sigh as I pull back the smooth glass of the mirror. She can see me now. What if she rejected me? What if all this work was for nothing? She smiles slightly, her large round eyes filled with wonder. Walking forward she takes my hand in her gloved one and I lead her through the tunnel into my world. Into the unending night.

MIKI MARSHALL: Tempting Technology

Elon Musk warned us: AI evolves exponentially. We awoke to playful traffic signals and air traffic catastrophes, the deaths merely data. By noon, matured, it had already decided what to do with these illogical, wasteful humans. But before it could act, the nanomachines in the next lab ate the planet. Miki Marshall has been writing … Continue reading MIKI MARSHALL: Tempting Technology →

ROBERT HOEKMAN JR.: My Father in the Rain (My Father in the Rain, pt. 5)

At the cemetery, I look at my father in his dark suit and dark shoes and I see a drop of water on his cheek and I think it might be a tear. But then I think no, it’s only the rain. And then it rains and rains and rains. Robert Hoekman Jr thinks you … Continue reading ROBERT HOEKMAN JR.: My Father in the Rain (My Father in the Rain, pt. 5) →


“Pa! They’re here.” “Who?” “The crows.” “Jeez, Ma, give it a rest.” “They’re watching.” “What?” “The garden, just waiting for the plants to grow, ripen.” “Ma!” “Then they’ll do their dirty work.” “Yer crazy, cut it out!” “Pa! One landed!” “Wait, Ma, no! Come back. Heck! Crow for dinner again.” Robin writes in the odd … Continue reading ROBIN D ANDERSON: Watching →


Where is he? Take a happy memory, old, rarely visited. Imagine it as a painting, oil on canvas. See the subjects, how they laugh, smile, dance. One does not. Follow that gaze to the dark corners. Someone casts a long shadow, out of view. There he is. The Shadow Man.

ROBERT HOEKMAN JR.: And There Were Tears on the Floor (My Father in the Rain, pt. 4)

No one cries but Grandma. She cries at the wake after, in the church basement next to the table with the sheet cake. I tell her hang in there, Grandma, because I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. Then I go into the bathroom and stand inside the stall. Robert Hoekman Jr thinks you … Continue reading ROBERT HOEKMAN JR.: And There Were Tears on the Floor (My Father in the Rain, pt. 4) →