My Humble Life

by Steven Pentecost

In the beginning there was just Steve: a lowly amateur animator, storywriter, and cartoonist. One fateful day I happened across an author who would ultimately unravel my modesty and help forge the self-indulged gentleman you see in the picture cast in the blackness below. At the onset of my creative adventure, I initially resisted the temptation to gaze upon myself in the mirror, but as Fate will have her way, I have inevitably given into that which must be. The Phantom phase of my artistic journey began with a simple offer to post one of my many literary masterpieces onto this website, from there self-proclaimed fame ensued. Within my mind I have achieved the highest echelons of stardom, and in my fantasies continue to do as many imaginative interviews as are sent my way. Now you have foolishly wandered into The Fifth Cellar, and have undoubtedly come across some of my works. You may feel surprised to hear of me, for those who have seen my pennings savor the works of my quill most privately. As a rule, they do not normally wish to share with others. Some would even go so far as to claim they have never heard of me before. You would be wise to search cautiously on your own. Or if you pass a wandering spirit calling out to you from the rocky darkness, you might ask for me by name. Surely you would like me to speak more of myself, but I feel the pressing closeness of the Opera Ghost, so I shall keep this chance meeting short. This is, after all, only the beginning of my tale. I am expecting at any moment to be called for an interview by one of today’s many reputable news organizations. (Silence.) Oh my, I sense OG approaching. Stand quietly, you don't know which way to flee. A word of warning: Never foreswear him. Gotta run…he’s close.

Steven, trapped Knight-errant

Dialogue

Q. What do you eat down there? Are you able to make it over to the concession stand?

A. As for your first question, the caverns are full of tasty companions and as for your second question, there is no need. The caverns provide wonderfully tasty treats, some crunchy and some chewy. The concession stand's offerings pale in comparison to the bounty within the caverns.

Q. Can you hear the Opera Ghost playing his organ?

A. The virtuoso of his work could not be more appealing. Often I close my eyes as I sit within my dwelling and let the melodious notes sweep me away as a ship adrift at sea. It could only be described as a journey into the mind.

Q. You seem content with your lot down there near the underground lake. May we call on you again sometime?

(Minutes tick by and the prolonged silence seems to press in around us. The air is thick and moist, and we can only assume that our Knight-errant has temporarily gone mute to avoid capture by the Phantom.)

(It's now been hours since we've heard from Steven. We can only assume that the Phantom has captured our Knight-errant. We stand in the oppressive darkness wondering how long it might be before Erik decides that Steven is of no use to him. Surely if the Opera Ghost has any knowledge of Steven's creativity, he will force our new-found friend into collaboration. We can only pray this is so.