A drabble of a poem involving Christian and the Green Fairy, set after Satine's death. R&R please!
Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge! -- not mine, never will be.
Resistance, as we all know, is reputed to be futile
Why, then, did he persist in making things so difficult?
That was what the petite emerald sprite wished to know,
Flitting impatiently from one corner of the dark, lonely garret to another,
Back and forth, again and again,
Bright eyes watching him all the time
Days, weeks, months – he spent them slumped at his typewriter,
Never writing anything, just sitting and staring,
Waiting for an inspiration that would never come
Mildly frustrated and desperate to intervene, she buzzes around his head,
Crazily zigzagging like a glowing jade dragonfly,
Pausing only to whisper in his ear
"Boissez, mon Christian," she urges. "Je rendrai vous le sentir meilleur."
And after much coaxing on her part,
He succumbs to her, grasping the bottle,
Trying to drown his sorrows,
To forget,
To drink his heart to sleep
The Fairy looks down upon her Christian smugly;
Her job is done
Resistance, as we all know, is futile