A love that will live forever. The end.
There wasn't a sense of release once our story was complete. It seemed so incomplete to me. I had fulfulled her last request. I had told our story. But, something wasn't right. I stared at the pages that seemed to serve as wallpaper in my garret. I glanced over the words. I had filled so many pages with so many words, yet I felt as though something was missing. Our story was incomplete. A nagging feeling tugged upon the weary strings of my heart, and my only responce for it was to drink another glass of Absinthe. The Green Fairy could answer the questions and quell my weary feelings just as she had done through the past few months. As I reached for the all-too- familiar green bottle, a certain group of words jumped out at me. I tried to look away, to go about my business, but I could not.
The woman I loved is dead.
Normally those haunting words would have stabbed straight through to my soul, but today on this oddly-special day there was a different feeling. That tugging became even more persistant upon my heart. I ran a hand through my hair and contined to stare upon those words. What was this feeling inside?
~*~
There was a knocking upon Christian's door which should have completely disrupted his thoughts, but it was a few moments more before he responded. He turned slightly and gave the door a quizzical expression as if to ask it just who was there. Toulouse, perhaps? With hesistant, yet ultimately curious footsteps, Christian crossed his small garret and opened the door. A stunned expression danced upon Christian's face as his gaze met the unreadable one of Harold Zidler.
"Forgive my unannounced visit, Christian, but it was quite important that we speak. It concerns a rather urgent matter," Harold stated; his tone matched his gaze - completely unreadable. He stood in an old suit, one Christian had often seen him in during the days of the Moulin Rouge. But, with the difficult times, Harold Zidler was a different man. There wasn't the same friendly glow in his eyes, but one tiny glimmer of hope remained - a glimmer Christian hadn't seen since the day his Diamond no longer sparkled.
"If it's about your Moulin Rouge, I'm terribly sorry for any trouble I caused. I can't say I'm sorry for the matter concerning the Duke. I only wish I could have saved Satine before she... before she..." Christian stated quickly, but suddenly his words vanished. He couldn't complete his sentence. His voice cracked ever-so-slightly as though he would break down all over again.
"Christian, there is no time for such nonsense. We all have our regrets. Lord knows I have so many, especially concerning my little Sparrow. But, despite my mistakes, I always told her, no matter what, that things would turn out for the best. Although it all seems so bleak, Christian, things truly have worked out for the best," Harold said softly.
A mix of rage and sorrow danced in Christian eyes, "Did you come here to mock me, Zidler? I'm sorry about your Moulin Rouge, but I'll hear no more of this. I wrote our story, just as she requested. That is all I can do, Zidler. I can't restore the Moulin Rouge. I can't write another show. I can't-"
"I never mentioned the Moulin Rouge. Christian, you must stop this nonsense. Although I desperately miss my theatre, that is not the matter of urgency," Harold stated.
Christian paused, then questioned in a soft and nearly bitter tone, "Then what do you want of me?"
"Christian, Satine is alive," Harold stated simply.
At first, Christian said nothing. He turned and gazed around at the story that covered his walls. Memories of his beautiful Satine and of their eternal love danced across his mind and held him in a sweet embrace, but a cold breeze from the streets of Monmarte flew through his window and took the sweetness away. Again the words jumped out at him.
The woman I loved is dead.
Again the mix of rage and sorrow filled his eyes and leaked into his voice, "What kind of trick is this, Zidler? She was a wonderful actress, and I know how you encouraged her. Your act doesn't fool me, Zidler. Please, just leave. Don't do this to me. I've been tormented enough."
Sympathy remained in Harold's eyes for Christian. The garret was a mess littered with empty bottles of Absinthe. The cold breeze rustled against the pages of their story. He looked upon them then back at Christian. "Satine is alive," he repeated. He paused for a moment then stated, "There is much I must tell you. Get yourself cleaned up, the carriage awaits outside. I will tell you what you must know."
~*~
With my beard gone and my head sober, I was beginning to feel like myself again. Something still stirred within the depths of my soul and pulled upon the strings of my heart. As I stepped inside the carriage and sat across from Harold Zidler, that persistant tugging became even more bothersome. He must have sensed my anxiousness, for at that moment he began to tell me a story - a story about a sparrow that would always fly.
As he began to tell the story, I had to be taken back to that dreadful day. The memories flew upon me again, but this time the chill was not from the wind. It was the chill of death that killed the sweet embraces of my Satine. Or at least, what we had thought was death. Death had been there clutching onto her tightly, but she was too strong to give in. I should have known that. "Let her go, Christian," Harold had commanded gently, and I did. Chocolat escorted me to my garret, for they all feared the Duke would come after me. That was the last time I saw her. Her blood stained my shirt. Her gasps echoed through my mind. But never since that moment had I seen her again. Toulouse had told me of a funeral arrangement, but I couldn't bear to go. I simply couldn't go.
But there was no funeral. We had screamed for a doctor, and shortly after my departure, one arrived. She was alive, but who could tell but the doctor? Those "silly costumes" could have successfully been the death of her. Breathing was hard enough without the restraints the costumes placed upon her. Her breathing then had been so weak, the untrained eye couldn't have noticed it. But, after giving Marie quick instructions to undo the backing, Satine began to breathe, still slowly and weakly, but it was breathing.
Marie poured the horrid-tasting liquid down Satine's throat, but there was no response. The doctor administered another injection, but there was no response. He shook his head gravely and explained the situation as best he could. With the increased amounts of the horrid medication she had to drink in order to perform and with the restraining costumes that made breathing so painfully difficult, Satine's usual fainting spell was something much worse. "It's a coma," he explained, "It isn't surprising. Increased amounts of medicine, inability to breathe properly, too much physical activity, emotional distress, along with her usual weakness and fainting.. it all adds up."
Worry, naturally, swept across the stage and rested upon all who remained. Harold had questioned what must be done, to which the doctor responded, "The situation isn't entirely bleak. As you well know, Satine is dying from the consumption - tuberculosis we call it. The only known cure is to have certain chemicals administered, bed-rest, fresh air, and minimal speech for an extended amount of time. With Satine's typical routine, she could have easily died within the week. But, this coma is like a blessing in disguise. While she is in this unconscious state, we can easily begin her treatment. There's a chance, depending upon how long she remains like this, that if she were to awaken, the tuberculosis would be cured."
"If she awakens?" Zidler had questioned.
~*~
"There was no gurantee, of course. Sometimes people awaken within days, weeks, months, years... but sometimes not at all. With the money earned from the show, Marie and I followed the doctor's instructions and left that night to take Satine to the hospital in Grenoble. It isn't far from Monmarte. Far enough away to receive the fresh air and necessary treatments, but close enough for us not to relocate entirely," Harold said, rambling a bit to avoid the question he anticipated.
"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you wait until now?" Christian inquired softly, still stunned from all he had learned.
"It was doubtful that she would awaken. We were trying to act on behalf of Satine's best interests. She would be devastated to know you were there each and every day holding onto a dream that wasn't meant to come true. She wanted you to write the story, not waste away in a cold hospital room beside her," Harold said gently.
Christian nodded. He didn't completely agree with their desicion, but that didn't matter at the moment. He remained silent as Harold continued.
"Weeks passed by, and Marie feared for the worst. The doctor said she was growing weaker, but they continued to watch over her and treat her as best they could. Then one not-so-special day, it was as though a force came over Satine and told her she had to live. Something happened to Satine that day, and we haven't the slightest idea what. But, she moved a bit that day. Her fragile body began to willingly accept the chemical treatments. Weeks turned into months, and her eyes opened. The next day, when her mind was clear and her voice, although raspy and weak, was able to speak, she asked for you," Harold said, finally able to smile.
Christian stared in wonderment. For once in his life, the penniless poet had lost his words. At this Harold stated, "We were equally amazed. She will be released from the hospital soon, perhaps in a matter of days. Once she sees you, the remaining weight will surely be lifted from her shoulders."
(Like it so far? I'll continue if you want. Please review and let me know. *smiles*)
There wasn't a sense of release once our story was complete. It seemed so incomplete to me. I had fulfulled her last request. I had told our story. But, something wasn't right. I stared at the pages that seemed to serve as wallpaper in my garret. I glanced over the words. I had filled so many pages with so many words, yet I felt as though something was missing. Our story was incomplete. A nagging feeling tugged upon the weary strings of my heart, and my only responce for it was to drink another glass of Absinthe. The Green Fairy could answer the questions and quell my weary feelings just as she had done through the past few months. As I reached for the all-too- familiar green bottle, a certain group of words jumped out at me. I tried to look away, to go about my business, but I could not.
The woman I loved is dead.
Normally those haunting words would have stabbed straight through to my soul, but today on this oddly-special day there was a different feeling. That tugging became even more persistant upon my heart. I ran a hand through my hair and contined to stare upon those words. What was this feeling inside?
~*~
There was a knocking upon Christian's door which should have completely disrupted his thoughts, but it was a few moments more before he responded. He turned slightly and gave the door a quizzical expression as if to ask it just who was there. Toulouse, perhaps? With hesistant, yet ultimately curious footsteps, Christian crossed his small garret and opened the door. A stunned expression danced upon Christian's face as his gaze met the unreadable one of Harold Zidler.
"Forgive my unannounced visit, Christian, but it was quite important that we speak. It concerns a rather urgent matter," Harold stated; his tone matched his gaze - completely unreadable. He stood in an old suit, one Christian had often seen him in during the days of the Moulin Rouge. But, with the difficult times, Harold Zidler was a different man. There wasn't the same friendly glow in his eyes, but one tiny glimmer of hope remained - a glimmer Christian hadn't seen since the day his Diamond no longer sparkled.
"If it's about your Moulin Rouge, I'm terribly sorry for any trouble I caused. I can't say I'm sorry for the matter concerning the Duke. I only wish I could have saved Satine before she... before she..." Christian stated quickly, but suddenly his words vanished. He couldn't complete his sentence. His voice cracked ever-so-slightly as though he would break down all over again.
"Christian, there is no time for such nonsense. We all have our regrets. Lord knows I have so many, especially concerning my little Sparrow. But, despite my mistakes, I always told her, no matter what, that things would turn out for the best. Although it all seems so bleak, Christian, things truly have worked out for the best," Harold said softly.
A mix of rage and sorrow danced in Christian eyes, "Did you come here to mock me, Zidler? I'm sorry about your Moulin Rouge, but I'll hear no more of this. I wrote our story, just as she requested. That is all I can do, Zidler. I can't restore the Moulin Rouge. I can't write another show. I can't-"
"I never mentioned the Moulin Rouge. Christian, you must stop this nonsense. Although I desperately miss my theatre, that is not the matter of urgency," Harold stated.
Christian paused, then questioned in a soft and nearly bitter tone, "Then what do you want of me?"
"Christian, Satine is alive," Harold stated simply.
At first, Christian said nothing. He turned and gazed around at the story that covered his walls. Memories of his beautiful Satine and of their eternal love danced across his mind and held him in a sweet embrace, but a cold breeze from the streets of Monmarte flew through his window and took the sweetness away. Again the words jumped out at him.
The woman I loved is dead.
Again the mix of rage and sorrow filled his eyes and leaked into his voice, "What kind of trick is this, Zidler? She was a wonderful actress, and I know how you encouraged her. Your act doesn't fool me, Zidler. Please, just leave. Don't do this to me. I've been tormented enough."
Sympathy remained in Harold's eyes for Christian. The garret was a mess littered with empty bottles of Absinthe. The cold breeze rustled against the pages of their story. He looked upon them then back at Christian. "Satine is alive," he repeated. He paused for a moment then stated, "There is much I must tell you. Get yourself cleaned up, the carriage awaits outside. I will tell you what you must know."
~*~
With my beard gone and my head sober, I was beginning to feel like myself again. Something still stirred within the depths of my soul and pulled upon the strings of my heart. As I stepped inside the carriage and sat across from Harold Zidler, that persistant tugging became even more bothersome. He must have sensed my anxiousness, for at that moment he began to tell me a story - a story about a sparrow that would always fly.
As he began to tell the story, I had to be taken back to that dreadful day. The memories flew upon me again, but this time the chill was not from the wind. It was the chill of death that killed the sweet embraces of my Satine. Or at least, what we had thought was death. Death had been there clutching onto her tightly, but she was too strong to give in. I should have known that. "Let her go, Christian," Harold had commanded gently, and I did. Chocolat escorted me to my garret, for they all feared the Duke would come after me. That was the last time I saw her. Her blood stained my shirt. Her gasps echoed through my mind. But never since that moment had I seen her again. Toulouse had told me of a funeral arrangement, but I couldn't bear to go. I simply couldn't go.
But there was no funeral. We had screamed for a doctor, and shortly after my departure, one arrived. She was alive, but who could tell but the doctor? Those "silly costumes" could have successfully been the death of her. Breathing was hard enough without the restraints the costumes placed upon her. Her breathing then had been so weak, the untrained eye couldn't have noticed it. But, after giving Marie quick instructions to undo the backing, Satine began to breathe, still slowly and weakly, but it was breathing.
Marie poured the horrid-tasting liquid down Satine's throat, but there was no response. The doctor administered another injection, but there was no response. He shook his head gravely and explained the situation as best he could. With the increased amounts of the horrid medication she had to drink in order to perform and with the restraining costumes that made breathing so painfully difficult, Satine's usual fainting spell was something much worse. "It's a coma," he explained, "It isn't surprising. Increased amounts of medicine, inability to breathe properly, too much physical activity, emotional distress, along with her usual weakness and fainting.. it all adds up."
Worry, naturally, swept across the stage and rested upon all who remained. Harold had questioned what must be done, to which the doctor responded, "The situation isn't entirely bleak. As you well know, Satine is dying from the consumption - tuberculosis we call it. The only known cure is to have certain chemicals administered, bed-rest, fresh air, and minimal speech for an extended amount of time. With Satine's typical routine, she could have easily died within the week. But, this coma is like a blessing in disguise. While she is in this unconscious state, we can easily begin her treatment. There's a chance, depending upon how long she remains like this, that if she were to awaken, the tuberculosis would be cured."
"If she awakens?" Zidler had questioned.
~*~
"There was no gurantee, of course. Sometimes people awaken within days, weeks, months, years... but sometimes not at all. With the money earned from the show, Marie and I followed the doctor's instructions and left that night to take Satine to the hospital in Grenoble. It isn't far from Monmarte. Far enough away to receive the fresh air and necessary treatments, but close enough for us not to relocate entirely," Harold said, rambling a bit to avoid the question he anticipated.
"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you wait until now?" Christian inquired softly, still stunned from all he had learned.
"It was doubtful that she would awaken. We were trying to act on behalf of Satine's best interests. She would be devastated to know you were there each and every day holding onto a dream that wasn't meant to come true. She wanted you to write the story, not waste away in a cold hospital room beside her," Harold said gently.
Christian nodded. He didn't completely agree with their desicion, but that didn't matter at the moment. He remained silent as Harold continued.
"Weeks passed by, and Marie feared for the worst. The doctor said she was growing weaker, but they continued to watch over her and treat her as best they could. Then one not-so-special day, it was as though a force came over Satine and told her she had to live. Something happened to Satine that day, and we haven't the slightest idea what. But, she moved a bit that day. Her fragile body began to willingly accept the chemical treatments. Weeks turned into months, and her eyes opened. The next day, when her mind was clear and her voice, although raspy and weak, was able to speak, she asked for you," Harold said, finally able to smile.
Christian stared in wonderment. For once in his life, the penniless poet had lost his words. At this Harold stated, "We were equally amazed. She will be released from the hospital soon, perhaps in a matter of days. Once she sees you, the remaining weight will surely be lifted from her shoulders."
(Like it so far? I'll continue if you want. Please review and let me know. *smiles*)