Ok, guys. Listen up. I have had 70 years of experience in life. I’m near death. I have confessions, so I have decided to make them publicly. I know a young journalist in the audience of this city square. Buddy, get out a piece of paper and a quill because I have a story for you. This is a story for the town. Whether or not to believe me, now that’s your decision.


Now, once a long time ago, maybe when I was about 14 years old, Barcelona was a more beautiful city than it is now. For example, the rutty dirt encrusted pavilion was a huge sea of green. It wasn’t full of gray, lifeless buildings. It had hardly any buildings at all. There were people living in cute little houses. Parents would take their kids to get ice cream at the fair on Saturdays, when everyone was off work. It was beautiful to watch. I was a street kid, who raised myself. I had no parents, they were probably dead or in another country altogether. I was a strong young boy growing up. Everyone was happy.
Anyway, one day, when I was in my cozy home I built for myself, I heard guns shooting. Crying, cheering, screaming, pounding. I looked out my shattered window to find a dark sky, though it was maybe 8:00 in the morning. Black clouds swirled from a far off pace, and bullets flew from one house to another. Many of the houses were on fire, and marching men with guns attacked the people who challenged them. I had never experience a war, or even an angry mob. Barcelona had always been a peaceful place. But to see the city I love, in which I called my home, to see the kind generous people who I often talked to in the fair dying, to hear screaming and see this city being destroyed-it brought tears to my eyes.

I ventured out farther, daring to move from the safety of my home. I ran as fast as I could to the place where the black clouds were. I ran past the burning fair, the screaming people, and the blackened houses. I turned a corner and…I saw it. Many armed men were marching, firing their guns at the people who tried to defend us. Killing thousands who sacrificed themselves. Some spit up into different small groups of firing guns, going down the city and tearing down all its beauty.

The shock wore off quickly, replaced by fear, anger, and hatred. How dare these people kill us all?! How dare these people destroy our home, and take away what we have worked for? Finally, one of our defenders raised a white flag, and the fighting ceased. Out of the crowd of men came an individual, who introduced himself as Colonel Carlos.

He then set down many rules for HIS country, and told us we were brave to surrender. I wanted to strangle this guy. He stood right here, where I am right now, and called for a bidder to take over the music industry, like that was so important. Why didn’t this man apologize for what he just did to us? Instead of being so worried about his stupid music industry. I myself, had never been very interested in music. I’ve heard the concerts on Thursday nights in the fair, and sometimes I did go to watch. But music was definitely not worth losing my home.

Then some idiot behind me decided to play along with this guys plan. He was a tall, thin pale man with blonde hair. I had never seen him before, and I knew everyone in Barcelona. But Carlos took the man’s bid, but the man wasn’t bidding for himself. He was bidding for the man he worked for, named Mister Y. At the time, I didn’t care enough to really listen to him, but thinking back, this was a very good thing to know. Why didn’t Mister Y make an appearance for himself? Anyway, after our new laws were established, Carlos let us go with the promise that he would rebuild our town, but that he would rebuild it HIS way.

We went back to stuff as usually, but it wasn’t what it used to be. The city was charred, even though the workers were rebuilding things very fast. The fair was back up within the week, and 5 soldiers were assigned to every house. And if you took a stroll through Barcelona, there were guards posted everywhere, with guns on hand in case you messed up like the rebels in Carlos’ dungeon. This square was built, as was the stage I am currently on. Mister Y needed this built, and so it was. And me, I wasn’t safe anymore. Barcelona now had a new town orphanage. A dirty old place with guards lining the walls. The children weren’t allowed to go anywhere outside of the grounds-which wasn’t my style at all. Strangely enough, the castle we have in Barcelona wasn’t harmed in the war. It was the home of Mister Y.

No one was allowed near the castle, so no one ever saw Mister Y. But about a week and a half after the war, he started his music business. And we were all pretty much forced to go, except for me because I wasn’t a registered citizen. But I still went to his stupid concert, and it was actually some of the best stuff I’ve ever heard. If Carlos hadn’t destroyed my life, I might even like the new Spain a little. Speaking of Spain, Carlos was right. Barcelona wasn’t the only city being attacked. He was after the whole country.
Anyway, I went to all of the concerts after that, because the music was probably the best thing out of this whole mess. And I caught on to Mister Y’s intentions very quickly. He was hiring people from all over the world to sing the songs he composed. I think a lot of people enjoyed the music, they were just so mad at Carlos that they didn’t want to cave into his new rules like Mister Y did. And I can’t blame them. Even if the music is pretty, what he did was wrong. There were also weird things happening with the way Carlos ruled. We saw him once in a while, when he made speeches about the new rules he came up with, or when he sat in his private box during the concerts. But once, when he thought no one was looking, I saw him go up to one of the guards to the castle and the guard let him in. Which isn’t uncommon, Mister Y is still under Carlos’ rule. But I noticed Carlos making many visits to the castle, and I couldn’t help being suspicious. What could he possible need to see Mister Y for so many times? New music laws 24/7?
And another thing. On the pre-made programs the guards would deliver to everyone, it always said that a girl called Christine de Changy would be singing these songs, but then the singer was always changed on the performance. This happened over and over again. And some of the women who hang out in the parlor started rumors that Mister Y had been trying to get his girlfriend to sing, and she declined him. Now, I actually started getting a little bit more suspicious than I already was, and decided to investigate. I teamed up with with a man I knew who worked as a bicycle repair man. He agreed to be a spy, as a worker for Mister Y.

After a couple months, the guy came back to me with some information. He said that Mister Y had been making very generous offers to the woman in France named Christine de Changy, the last one being 3,000,000 francs. And another thing: my agent had overheard his employer and Carlos talking in his office. Carlos said something about how foolish he was in his money choices. And Mister Y responded that this girl meant the world to him. That Carlos didn’t understand any love except for his love for power. Now, this was a very strange this to have heard, as you could imagine. First of all, Carlos and Mister Y seemed pretty close for the relationship of colonel and music man. And also, Mister Y was spending thousands of francs on a girl to sing. Why? I thanked the man for his help. Eventually, I gave up my suspicions on Mister Y and focused on defeating Carlos, though I was only a boy. Then, a year later the repair man ran up to me while I was walking home with some wheat I had just bought, avoiding the guards. He said he had overheard another conversation. It was about 10:00 at night, and the man was about to go to be when he heard the door bang open, and he hid for his employer hated if his workers ever saw him.

Then my agent finally saw him, Mister Y himself. He had on a black cloak that billowed around his feet. He wore a big-brimmed hat, like a black sombrero. But more so elegant, and sinister. He had on a ghostly white mask on one side of his face. He seemed tired, and stormed into his office where Carlos was waiting. He told Carlos his story. My associate listened at the door, and heard their words. Mister Y had just come back from Paris, France with his final offer to Christine at 5,000,000 francs. Now, how he got out of this country is beyond me. Anyway, he threatened her and her son, and so the poor lady had no choice but to sing. Apparently, he swore to come back for her in two weeks. And Carlos seemed understanding. Now, this was kind of weird. Mister Y did all of this just to have a good singer sing his music? I was starting to think the ladies in the parlor were right.

So I did something I should have never done. At the time, it would’ve been the same as committing suicide. I left Barcelona, and left Spain. How I did it...I’m not even sure. But I made it out, killing a few guards and taking my chances at just the right time. I had to find Christine de Changy. I arrived in France, and I searched. And searched and search, for days on end. And then I finally stumbled to the Paris Opera Populaire.

I found out that she was there, resting after a long show. I went to her dressing room and went in. First of all, I totally got why Mister Y had been trying to get this woman to sing for him. She was beautiful. She was kind to me, and I sat down and told her my story, about the war, about overhearing Mister Y, about everything. And she believed me. She comforted me like I was her child, and five years old. And despite the fact that I had come to help the diva, come in name of my country, come as a man-I collapsed in her arms. And cried and cried and cried, and then passed out. She took me home with her, and helped me back to my strength, because I lost it all that night in my tears. I met her son, of 10 years. We became friends, and I found a lot about her and the way she lived. And when I was finally strong enough, I insisted that she told me her story. She told me about how 12 year ago, there was a Phantom who haunted the opera. He loved her, and she pitied him. The one she loved was her then husband, Raoul de Changy. And how she knows that Mister Y is the phantom, who was supposed to have been dead.



Now things were all starting to make sense. But still, I was unsure of the connection between the Phantom and Carlos. Maybe Carlos was afraid of him? Anyway, me and the diva teamed up. I was to stowaway on the jet that was to take her to Barcelona. And together, we would bring down Carlos, and the Phantom as well. So the week came, with me becoming closer to Christine. And then we were taken back to my hometown by the Phantom himself, and he was everything that the repair man and Christine had described. When we were back, me and Christine sneaked into Carlos’ office and stole a glance at some top secret files. The files said something strange and shocking. There was an associate of Carlos, one who was an equal in this conquest. An unknown man called The Red Baron. Well, me and Christine sent word back to France immediately. And so Christine’s husband told us that night that the Red Baron was the Phantom. And then, it all made sense to both of us.

We were both determined to bring down the Phantom of Spain. So Christine sang her song, called Love Never Dies in English and Spanish, and about the time she ended the Frenchmen invaded and I had never been so happy about an invasion then I was. They attacked the soldiers, and one man broke away and ran up to the castle. I guessed the man to be Raoul, so I followed him. He fired at the castle window, where I could see the Phantom looking out over the city. I didn’t think that the bullet touched him, but he ran. And Raoul, one of the bravest soldiers I’ve seen, broke into the castle and chased him.

I followed him into the chase. I didn’t wan’t to lose action on this battle. So we chased the Phantom around his own home, which reminded me of the old silent movies. Eventually, our chase led us to the roof of the castle, where we finally had the Phantom cornered on a ledge. Now, at the point of panic, he started waving his sword threateningly at us, cursing us and our chase. Of course, you might ask, where was Mr. Colonel Carlos in all of this mess? He too spotted Raoul, and we led him to the roof as well. He fought in the name of his master, but he stood no chance up against me and Raoul. That isn’t to say we killed him, but we disarmed him and got him out of our way just as the Phantom was getting ready to slash our heads off. We stabbed our swords in his direction, and as he was dodging them, he slipped and The Phantom of Spain fell to his death.


That’s the story of the Phantom who terrorized Barcelona. Unfortunately, his death didn’t end the war that lasted a while longer. But it did give the French an upper-hand, and me, Christine, and Raoul a sense of triumph. I ended up moving to Paris with Raoul and Christine de Changy, who took me in. I was raised there and learned French, plus improved on my English. When I was 20, I moved back to Barcelona in which I have spent the rest of my life growing up. And now, I wish to die in my place of birth. I hope that one day, you will see the real value in Barcelona. Because even though it’s not as---...beautiful---...as it once---...was, it’s still a land of mystery and dreams---.........