Moulin Rouge! Part deux.
Chapter one: Death and life
"No! Satine…" Christian cried. The curtains had closed and the silence sounded like a thousand people shouting, the shouts filling up Christian's head and making his mind blurry, his tears blurring his sight. Never in his life had he cried like this, not even when his dear mother had died. The two women he had loved most had left him, and now he didn't know what to do or who to turn to with his grief.
She's not dead...she's not dead...just sleeping...she can wake up any moment now...
But Satine, the Sparkling Diamond, star of the Moulin Rouge, did not breathe. Christian was sobbing, not noticing his friend Toulouse Lautrec coming up behind him.
"Christian..." Toulouse carefully laid his hand upon his friend's shoulder. He was tearing up too, by the sight of a broken man, who had just found his happiness and now watched it being taken away from him. Toulouse cleared his throat.
"Christian...you need to come outside."
"No..." the water still pouring out of his eyes, Christian clung onto Satine's body, still warm, but without any movement, "I'm not...leaving her..."
"You don't have to, Christian. Come, lift her up and take her outside. We'll bring her someplace safe."
Christian pressed a kiss against the soft skin of Satine's cheek and gently lifted her body from the ground. All the people that had breathlessly watched the tragedy unfold on the stage, behind the great red curtains, made way as Christian carried her body, once most gracefully dancing, now hanging limp in his arms, off the stage.
Harold Zidler was the only one who did not have a lump in his throat. He just wished for his angel to fly out to heaven, where she belonged now.
"Open the curtains," he spoke without needing to raise his voice. A few seconds later, he could face the audience. Searching for an appropriate emotion he quickly prepared a speech in his mind. Believe it or not, Zidler was not an emotional man. He was an artist, that was for sure, but his talent was to make believe, so he always acted the way he wanted others to act, to get them in the mood he wanted. His little squirrell had died, but the Moulin Rouge had not. Now he needed to convince the audience of the fact that the Moulin Rouge had not died with Satine, so Harold almost unnoticably mentioned for Nini to come over to him. She was next in line. She would be the new star of the Moulin Rouge from now on. The trapeze and diamonds would be hers.
"Dear guests," he began to speak.
In the meanwhile Christian and his bohemian friends had found their way out. The Argentinian opened the door to the garden and let Christian pass. Snowflakes came falling down from the sky like sugar.
"My friend," Toulouse said, while keeping up with his friends, "there stands your way to freedom, to the truth, to beauty and most importantly, to love." He pointed his cane at a carriage, with a black horse impatiently scraping his hoofs over the snow-covered street tiles.
"It doesn't matter Toulouse, my revolution is over. My love is over," said Christian with a shaky voice.
The bohemian revolutionairies glanced at one another.
"Poor boy," Satie shook his head.
"With his love, his spirit will come back to him," the Argentinian announced out loud. He resolutely took the handle of the carriage door and pulled it down.
"Do not let the bohemian spirit get lost inside of you, Christian, if you keep believing, your faith will return." The bohemians frowned at the Argentinian, they could all see that Satine's body got heavier for Christian, who seemed in trance, looking at his love lying in his arms.
"Oh, well." The Argentinian opened the door and Christian stepped inside, where he laid Satine's body on the red-covered seat and kneeled by her side. Toulouse got in as well.
"Satine, beautiful girl, you are safe," he whispered. Furiously Christian looked up to his friend.
"How can you say that, Toulouse? How can you tell her she's safe when she just died a horrible death? You with your bohemian crab! I should have never joined you. All of this would not have happened. My life is over, Toulouse, so just leave me alone."
Toulouse stared at Christian's face with a serious look.
"As you wish, my friend. But I suggest that you first look behind you, before you say any more things you do not mean."
Christian wanted to slap the little man's face for being so abnoxious. Could he not be polite at least and show a little more understanding instead of acting like his father? No. Apparently not. Realizing this Christian felt the anger coming up, but just before he could tell his former friend to go to hell something made him turn his head and try to catch his breath.
A cough.
Please R&R. I've got more chapters. If you like it, I'll upload them. Critics are welcome! (Plus: English is not my natal language, so sorry for any mistakes!) Enjoy!