I sit in the hallway, leaning against the wall, looking at the pictures of us. I think it has always been this way, as my birth has always felt like one giant mistake. I sigh as I squeeze a small tennis ball in my hand.
I look at my parents'wedding photo. I can see my mum, Christine Daae, in a long white dress and a long weil. She looks like a fairy, clutching a small bouquet which I believe it contains roses. Next to her, Raoul de Chagny, my father, is holding her by her waist and slowly guiding her under a rain of white petals. Both the groom and the bride have wide smiles on their faces; he looks at her with a loving gaze and she closes her eyes smiling. I chuckle slightly. It feels so strange... My parents are perfect. He is a brave man who used to be a sailor, descendant of a noble family. She is a talented soprano, although I have never heard hear sing in my life. They are the proud parents of three perfect children, yet I can't really say, nor believe that.
I look at the portrait of my older sister, Operetta. It's guarded by a black frame, intricately carved in a black metal which I think is iron. She looks lovely, yet she is a stranger to me. I have never seen her and this photo is the only proof that she exists. I heard that she studies in a far away place and she stays there in campus. I think she has forgotten us, since she hasn't bothered to write us any letters...
They say that three is a magic number. In fairytales, stories, all good things come in trios. Sadly, I am not the youngest sibling. That honour would belong to Gustave.
Gustave is my younger brother. He is a happy ten year old boy and the pride of our family. He loves me and I love him back. He is a musical prodigy, which makes father and mum very proud.
It's weird that among all the names I have listed so far, mine definitely stands out. Their names sound French, posh and refined; mine sounds American and out of place. My name is Logan de Chagny, I am sixteen years old and I am the disappointment.
* * *
Since Gustave was born, I always tried to prove that I am still a de Chagny, yet I failed miserably. I went to school for some time, but I was expelled every time. In my primary school years, the teachers grew to distrust me. They always complained about me being a naughty child and, after a peculiar incident in which the bathroom flooded, they expelled me. The second time, at Oak Elementary, I have been expelled because I set a school laboratory on fire. It wasn't my fault and I said it countless times, yet they didn't believe me. And, last time, I was expelled because I set fire to the festivities hall.
As you can imagine, my parents were none too pleased, especially my father. He always gave me the cold shoulder and it was clear to me that I failed miserably. My mum has always been really kind to me even if I don't deserve it and was always there to support me. Gustave wasn't always told about his big brother's whereabouts, yet he always looked up to me, which made me feel guilty.
Although they loved me, I have always felt hollow, like being the odd one out nobody dares to notice out of courtesy. I spent whole days alone in my room, listening to music or sometimes reading. I didn't have any close friends as people who spent some time around me usually complained of a feeling of unease and dread when being in my company. I didn't mind, I was better off without them anyways.
* * *
"Logan, we have to talk."
The way mum said my name means it's something serious. And one might say that, coming from a family of musically inclined individuals, I realised this by the tone of her voice, by the fact that she used a B flat to say my name. In reality, I have been such a nuisance to her that I am used to hearing this, but it still feels like something bad is about to happen.
We sit in silence in the kitchen for a while. I can hear the birds chirping outside, children shouting and laughing happily and the sound of Gustave's soccer ball hitting the wall. Her brown eyes look at me as if she is trying to find a flaw in me, but they still radiate the kindness of a mother raising three very peculiar children.
"Your father and I have talked," she says trying to break the silence, "and have made the conclusion that you shall go to school tomorrow."
"What?!"
I can't believe my ears. If she lets me go to school again, even if all those things happened, this means she hasn't lost faith in me and I haven't lost her trust.
"You are really doing this?" I ask to make sure I am not dreaming and this isn't a prank. "After everything I have caused?"
"Everyone deserves a second chance." She smiles. "And I believe that your potential might be able to grow if you go there. We found the perfect place for you, my darling."
"You still believe in me?!"
I stand up from my chair and come closer to her. She seems amused by my reaction as she tucks my shaggy hair behind my ear. My eyes glow of a resolve stronger than stone.
"I promise, mum!" I say out loud. "I promise I won't fail you this time! I promis I will do my best!"
YOU ARE READING
Post scriptum - 1. Act One
General Fiction"And they lived happily ever after..." And what happens next? Well, for Logan de Chagny, the answer is far from fantastic: he has always struggled to live up to his parents' expectations and feels like in his perfect family there is no room for some...
