Christian took in jagged breaths as he forced his fingers to push the keys
of his Underwood typewriter.
'The woman I loved is. . .'
He choked back a sob as he looked toward the Moulin Rouge. He remembered that horrible night where she fell, limp, into his arms and he could do nothing but mutter pathetic words while she faded away.
He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. He couldn't finish the sentence. To say what happened to Satine would be to believe she was never coming back. Even after several anguishing months, he still believed that this cruel joke of Morpheus's would eventually fade away, and he'd once again be surrounded in the utter happiness and warmth of love with. . . her.
Christian lifted his tear-rimmed eyes to his fireplace, where on the mantle three dimly half-burned out candles painted shadows on brittle dead rose petals and a black and white photo - Satine loosely wearing a shall, smiling softly. No makeup, no flashy costumes. Stripped from her Sparkling Diamond title she was just. . . Satine, a person the world never knew. A woman stripped of her life before her time.
He leaned back in his chair, just staring at her picture and let the tears fall freely.
She had begged him with her last breath to keep them alive, to tell the world of dances across the stars and silly love songs. It had been his fiftieth attempt to begin their story and he still couldn't get past the first page. How do you begin to tell the story of a love that words would never do justice to? How do you begin to explain the greatest thing you'll ever learn?
He closed his eyes and saw her, so vividly. No flaws - just a warm smile. He took in a deep breath. It wasn't fair. . .
She never did anything to deserve her gruesome fate. To the world she was a devil, but inside she was just a lost woman, searching for someone to set her free, let her fly away.
He let his head fall limp and slouched over toward the wall, away from the window where people could see him, and crawled to the floor. He lifted his sore, red eyes and grimaced at the Moulin Rouge, pushing the bottle of Absinthe to his lips. The bitter taste washed over his tongue but he didn't even wince.
The Moulin Rouge was so dreary. The bulbs of the once glowing place were flickering dim, like the candles on his mantle. Everything was so dark. . . the skies, once full of dancing stars, were gray and chilling. The once soft white snow was brown slush. His throat ached from sobbing, his eyes ached from crying. A hand squeezed at his heart, and everywhere he looked memories stabbed him.
He looked at a distance at his bed, and saw her, with her flaming red hair spread across his pillow. She crooked her finger at him, telling him to come. Christian lifted his head and smiled, hearing the pearl of her laughter.
"S-Satine," he croaked, talking for the first time today.
She smiled at him and said in the same weak voice as the last day on the stage, "I'm sorry Christian. . . I'm dying. . . I'm so sorry."
He shook his head. "No. . . no. . ."
"You've got to go on. . . you've got so much to give. . ."
"No!" he cried, reaching out for her.
She smiled again, sending a warm shiver down Christian's spine and forcing him to freeze. "Tell our story. . . that way, I'll always be with you."
A chilling breeze came into the open window, taking her away.
Christian stood, clenching his jaw to keep from breaking down, and glanced at the pillow. With trembling fingers he reached down and picked up a strand of red hair.
"Satine?" he whispered, glancing toward the window.
The wind ran into his garret again, whispering, "I'll always. . . be with you. . ."
Christian attempted a smile. Yes. . . not even death could stop their love. She was always there.
He took another swig from the bottle and sat down at his typewriter again.
'The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love. . . and be loved in return.'
He took in a few deep breaths, the inspiration coming over him unlike any that he ever felt before as he continued. He felt her, felt her all around him.
"I'll always be with you." The voice was louder now as the sound of keys pressing to the paper was becoming louder and louder.
He pushed the reel of the typewriter and started another paragraph.
'The woman I loved is. . .'
He breathed unevenly. The sound echoed loudly inside his head as he slowly wrote 'dead'.
He wiped the sheen tears from his eyes, and waited for the pain to shake his entire body. . . but this time it didn't grab hold of him. Instead, he felt warm lips kiss his head, and soft fingers push his fingers to the keys, and he wasn't afraid.
She was always with him.
-----------------------------------------
Disclaimer: All characters belong to me and my good friend Baz.
A/N: Don't know why I wrote this. . . I was just thinking to myself how great it must be to find your soul mate, and how bad it would be to lose them. Then I thought of my good friend Christian and this came out. I hope you enjoyed this.
'The woman I loved is. . .'
He choked back a sob as he looked toward the Moulin Rouge. He remembered that horrible night where she fell, limp, into his arms and he could do nothing but mutter pathetic words while she faded away.
He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. He couldn't finish the sentence. To say what happened to Satine would be to believe she was never coming back. Even after several anguishing months, he still believed that this cruel joke of Morpheus's would eventually fade away, and he'd once again be surrounded in the utter happiness and warmth of love with. . . her.
Christian lifted his tear-rimmed eyes to his fireplace, where on the mantle three dimly half-burned out candles painted shadows on brittle dead rose petals and a black and white photo - Satine loosely wearing a shall, smiling softly. No makeup, no flashy costumes. Stripped from her Sparkling Diamond title she was just. . . Satine, a person the world never knew. A woman stripped of her life before her time.
He leaned back in his chair, just staring at her picture and let the tears fall freely.
She had begged him with her last breath to keep them alive, to tell the world of dances across the stars and silly love songs. It had been his fiftieth attempt to begin their story and he still couldn't get past the first page. How do you begin to tell the story of a love that words would never do justice to? How do you begin to explain the greatest thing you'll ever learn?
He closed his eyes and saw her, so vividly. No flaws - just a warm smile. He took in a deep breath. It wasn't fair. . .
She never did anything to deserve her gruesome fate. To the world she was a devil, but inside she was just a lost woman, searching for someone to set her free, let her fly away.
He let his head fall limp and slouched over toward the wall, away from the window where people could see him, and crawled to the floor. He lifted his sore, red eyes and grimaced at the Moulin Rouge, pushing the bottle of Absinthe to his lips. The bitter taste washed over his tongue but he didn't even wince.
The Moulin Rouge was so dreary. The bulbs of the once glowing place were flickering dim, like the candles on his mantle. Everything was so dark. . . the skies, once full of dancing stars, were gray and chilling. The once soft white snow was brown slush. His throat ached from sobbing, his eyes ached from crying. A hand squeezed at his heart, and everywhere he looked memories stabbed him.
He looked at a distance at his bed, and saw her, with her flaming red hair spread across his pillow. She crooked her finger at him, telling him to come. Christian lifted his head and smiled, hearing the pearl of her laughter.
"S-Satine," he croaked, talking for the first time today.
She smiled at him and said in the same weak voice as the last day on the stage, "I'm sorry Christian. . . I'm dying. . . I'm so sorry."
He shook his head. "No. . . no. . ."
"You've got to go on. . . you've got so much to give. . ."
"No!" he cried, reaching out for her.
She smiled again, sending a warm shiver down Christian's spine and forcing him to freeze. "Tell our story. . . that way, I'll always be with you."
A chilling breeze came into the open window, taking her away.
Christian stood, clenching his jaw to keep from breaking down, and glanced at the pillow. With trembling fingers he reached down and picked up a strand of red hair.
"Satine?" he whispered, glancing toward the window.
The wind ran into his garret again, whispering, "I'll always. . . be with you. . ."
Christian attempted a smile. Yes. . . not even death could stop their love. She was always there.
He took another swig from the bottle and sat down at his typewriter again.
'The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love. . . and be loved in return.'
He took in a few deep breaths, the inspiration coming over him unlike any that he ever felt before as he continued. He felt her, felt her all around him.
"I'll always be with you." The voice was louder now as the sound of keys pressing to the paper was becoming louder and louder.
He pushed the reel of the typewriter and started another paragraph.
'The woman I loved is. . .'
He breathed unevenly. The sound echoed loudly inside his head as he slowly wrote 'dead'.
He wiped the sheen tears from his eyes, and waited for the pain to shake his entire body. . . but this time it didn't grab hold of him. Instead, he felt warm lips kiss his head, and soft fingers push his fingers to the keys, and he wasn't afraid.
She was always with him.
-----------------------------------------
Disclaimer: All characters belong to me and my good friend Baz.
A/N: Don't know why I wrote this. . . I was just thinking to myself how great it must be to find your soul mate, and how bad it would be to lose them. Then I thought of my good friend Christian and this came out. I hope you enjoyed this.