Crescent, with a large bowl of hot popcorn, walked into her room and laid
down on her bed. She slowly kicked off her shoes as she grabbed the remote
and turned on the t.v. and pushed play. Moulin Rouge started . . .
"The Moulin Rouge . . . a nightclub, the dance hall of the bordello. Ruled over by Harold Zidler. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures. Where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. And the most beautiful of all these was the woman I loved, Satine, a courtesan. She sold her love to men. They called her the "Sparkling Diamond," and she was the star . . . of the Moulin Rouge. The woman I loved is . . . dead. I first came to Paris one year ago. It was 1899, the summer of love. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Harold Zidler or Satine. The world had been swept up in the Bohemian revolution. And I traveled from London to be a part of it. On a hill near Paris was the village of Montmartre. It was not as my father had said." "A village of SIN!"
Crescent chuckled and ate some popcorn. 'It would be great to live there . . . being swept off your feet' she sighed, 'But no . . . I'm stuck here,' Crescent chucked a popcorn at a picture of a boy around her age. 'Jackass' she thought. She saw lightning strike nearby and decided to count,
"One one million, two-" She jumped as thunder rattled her house and the electricity went off. "Damn." Crescent stood up and began to feel around so she could find the door. She felt for the knob and pulled. She quickly walked out of her room and closed the door behind her, reaching for the table for a flashlight, but not before she noticed a foul smell. Crescent looked up and noticed that she was in the middle of a street. An extremely OLD street. The kind you think of when you see . . . Moulin Rouge-
"The Moulin Rouge . . . a nightclub, the dance hall of the bordello. Ruled over by Harold Zidler. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures. Where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. And the most beautiful of all these was the woman I loved, Satine, a courtesan. She sold her love to men. They called her the "Sparkling Diamond," and she was the star . . . of the Moulin Rouge. The woman I loved is . . . dead. I first came to Paris one year ago. It was 1899, the summer of love. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Harold Zidler or Satine. The world had been swept up in the Bohemian revolution. And I traveled from London to be a part of it. On a hill near Paris was the village of Montmartre. It was not as my father had said." "A village of SIN!"
Crescent chuckled and ate some popcorn. 'It would be great to live there . . . being swept off your feet' she sighed, 'But no . . . I'm stuck here,' Crescent chucked a popcorn at a picture of a boy around her age. 'Jackass' she thought. She saw lightning strike nearby and decided to count,
"One one million, two-" She jumped as thunder rattled her house and the electricity went off. "Damn." Crescent stood up and began to feel around so she could find the door. She felt for the knob and pulled. She quickly walked out of her room and closed the door behind her, reaching for the table for a flashlight, but not before she noticed a foul smell. Crescent looked up and noticed that she was in the middle of a street. An extremely OLD street. The kind you think of when you see . . . Moulin Rouge-