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Dream State
by G.K Sinclair
There were candles all around…
Christine floated in and out of sleep, restless. In her mind’s eye, she
was there; onstage. In her hands she held a white half-face mask that she recognized
as Erik’s. No… wait, it wasn’t Erik’s. Putting this
on would cover the left side of her face, not the right. It was the mirror image
of it. Christine warmly remembered her angel with a smile, as powerful seductive
organ music rang out.
In sleep he sang to me,
In dreams he came.
That voice which calls to me
And speaks my name.
Soft blue light - a midnight moon - filtered in from above, saturating the mist
that surrounded her. The flickering candlelight from the stage props cast the
promise of an eerie spectral glow. Christine pirouetted on the spot, arms outstretched
and slender hands holding the mask facing her. She smiled, sweet teacher of
all things.
And do I dream again
For now I find
The Phantom of the Opera is here
Inside my mind.
The curtains fluttered on the stage’s left, catching Christine’s
eye. She almost gasped as a masked man, clothed in a black opera suit and cape
with a black fedora perched on his head emerged with a maniacal grin on his
face. For a moment, she believed it was Erik, who had entered her dream to be
with her. Upon closer inspection, Christine realized with a start that the man
who wore the mask was not her beloved Phantom at all.
It was her father.
Sing once again with me
Our strange duet…
Christine tried to flee from treacherous delusion, away from the ghost, but
the leering phantasm threw out a silent command with its long elegant arm. She
crashed into an invisible wall, unable to run any further.
My power over you
Grows stronger yet.
The disguised and deceased Monsieur Daaé mimed throwing a rope around
his terrified daughter and began dragging her back towards him. Fight as she
might, Christine could not break free of the transparent cord. He drew her to
him, turning her unwilling face to look him in the eye.
And though you turn from me
To glance behind
The Phantom of the Opera is there
Inside your mind
Christine, shrugging free, backed slowly away from the mystery, all the while
retaining eye contact and warily holding up the mask she still gripped like
a cross in front of her face.
Those who have seen your face
Draw back in fear
She swept the mask down and away as her father’s spirit circled like an
over-sized vulture around her. No!
I am the mask you wear…
Suddenly, a second Phantom appeared behind her, identical in outfitting to its predecessor, gripping her shoulders tightly and hissing in her right ear.
It’s me they hear.
Reaching up to her left, Christine felt a chill wrack her spine as she touched
the exposed features of Raoul de Chagny. Her costumed husband eased her center
stage, where her father waited to grasp her.
My/Your spirit and my/your voice
In one combined
The Phantom of the Opera is here/there
Inside my/your mind
Gripped by a pretender on each arm, both fake Phantoms attempted to pull Christine
off in their own direction. She twisted first toward one, then the other. Losing
their grip on her, Christine tumbled forward onto her hands and knees, the abrasiveness
of the wooden stage scratching her soft palms. For a moment, she was terrified
they would rather kill her than share her.
In all your fantasies
You always knew
That man and mystery…
Christine recognized the precious comfort of the Voice. Smiling weakly, her
courage and fortitude returned slightly. It was Erik, here to save her!
Were both in you…
She pressed the mask against her face, securing it to her head. The other Phantoms
made way as the new arrival moved swiftly over the stage to Christine’s
arms. Folding her in an embrace, he swept her across the floor in an extravagant
waltz.
And in this labyrinth
Where night is blind
The Phantom of the Opera is here/there
Inside my/your mind.
The sweet fragrance of three roses offered from the hand of each, signaled all
three Phantoms’ defeat. Christine’s father knelt at her feet and
gathered part of the hem of her white dress in his hands, looking up at her
pleadingly. She looked back at him, pity etched across her face. Papa, you sent
him and I was blind, so blind.
He’s there, the Phantom of the Opera…
Sing, my angel of music…
Christine robotically looked out into the darkness where the audience should
have been, releasing a barrage of superhuman notes from her shivering form.
Sing…
As she ran out of breath, the false Phantoms drew close, but with each new release
they tumbled away, unable to fight the despair that Christine unleashed through
the notes. Erik alone came to stand behind her, hands claiming her shoulders,
occasionally beckoning the other two closer, but always directing her voice.
Sing for me…
It was all too much. The pressure built inside Christine’s head as the
notes rang and vibrated. She scratched at her ears and grabbed at her head as
Erik’s hands bit into her shoulders, holding her upright, preventing her
falling down. When she thought she would explode from the pain, Erik whispered
in her ear.
Sing my angel of music, sing for me!
A singular note, more like a scream than a vocalization, ripped through air
like a shockwave, blasting all three fawning Phantoms back and away. They disappeared
into the wings as the mist swirled and the flames of the candles extinguished.
Darkness enveloped the stage where Christine mourned, arms outstretched and
masked face raised to the ceiling. A cold wind blew and carried the frightening
note away.
What you heard was a dream… and nothing more…
Christine sat up, drenched in cold sweat and shivering. The moonlight slanted
through the open window, curtains undulating gently in a cool breeze, which
-Christine rationalized- explained the light and the wind. She got up and closed
it. Leaning her face against the cool glass, she slowed her breathing and calmed
her racing heart. She stared out over the estate. Erik! Erik be there!
Only a dream, his touch was already fading, she grieved for consolations un-received.
The silence in the room was heavy, an unbearable curse not to be undone. Then
softly, steadily - at the back of her mind - an invisible creature seemed to
hum a lullaby. Hugging herself, she swayed. The clear distinct whisper of the
angel echoed from nowhere and everywhere. The very walls proclaimed the glory:
I have returned, let the dream begin.
READER COMMENTS
1. Magnifique! Not only is this scene compelling, but brave Sinclair has gone into the forum first. - Etienne