Chapter 1
The houses were dark and the streets were cold. The house that lay before Christian was both cold and dark. He hadn't been back since last year and now that his book had been published and his name was some what known, he had a little money in his pocket and clothes on his back.
However many possessions he possessed didn't matter to him. The only other thing linking him back to Montmartre was his typewriter… the one, which he wrote 'Spectacular, Spectacular.' However it was no longer in his possession either. He'd had to sell it to buy his train ticket home. As he thought more he realized he had something he'd held dear since Satine's death. It was a golden-framed picture that he would never give up. Not for anything.
It wasn't like he was eager to leave Montmartre, but he was going to kill himself if he didn't.
But as this dark place felt nothing like the warm arms of Satine and the garret which he had left behind, he had no where else to go.
Ringing the doorbell once, twice, and a third time… finally a light when on in the curtains of darkness.
"WHO THE HELL IS IT?" I loud, angry voice came.
The door flung open and a gray bushy eye browed man came to the door.
"Father, I'm home." Christian whispered sadly. Slowly his father coxed him in… but not caringly… just slowly. As if he knew of all the night time wonders and evil Christian had seen.
That next morning Christian just relaxed and stayed in bed. At least until his father beat him out of it and that was a memory he'd never forget…
He was sound asleep when suddenly…
SMACK! Right across the head.
"Get your lazy ass out of bed you stupid boy!" His father roared. Right away Christian was on his feet and grabbing his pained head…
"Get ready. We're going to work." His father said flatly.
"No we're not!" Christian said back.
"That's where you're dead wrong boy! I told you not to leave for that evil place but you left… and now your back and under my roof! If it weren't for that stupid love filled brain of yours you wouldn't have to worry about anything that's happened to you!" His father hit him again.
"Do you not think no one around here has read that blasted book of yours? As soon as they're done they turn and go 'aren't you his father? Don't you have control?' Well I'm telling you right now boy, I will get control, and if you don't like it you can pack your bags right back up and leave!" Christian's father grabbed the small suitcase filled with little items Christian had carried with him and through them it at his son.
"She was a whore stupid… get over it. Who would waste their love on you?"
"NO!" Christian stood tall and proud against his father and was only knocked further down the ladder. A fist hitting Christian in the eye had him toppling over.
"You are a stupid boy…" His father commented.
Christian with all his might hid his sadness… his longing for his father's approval… his maddening rage to reach out and kill the man.
"Yes sir." Was all Christian did.
When he was young he had been taught in brutal ways how to behave… especially towards his father. He couldn't count the many times he wanted to lunge forward and strangle the god-forbidding man around the neck.
"Get out of my site." His father hissed and grabbed Christian by the arm and lugged him downstairs to the front door, pushing him out on to the street where he fell in a muddy puddle.
His father began laughing hysterically as he closed the door.
"Son of bitch." Christian mumbled pulling himself up. He took himself down the street to a hotel and checked himself in.
OK not too fancy but I think I can make this work… keyword: 'think' so please bare with me. R&R and tell me what you thunk…LOL k?
The houses were dark and the streets were cold. The house that lay before Christian was both cold and dark. He hadn't been back since last year and now that his book had been published and his name was some what known, he had a little money in his pocket and clothes on his back.
However many possessions he possessed didn't matter to him. The only other thing linking him back to Montmartre was his typewriter… the one, which he wrote 'Spectacular, Spectacular.' However it was no longer in his possession either. He'd had to sell it to buy his train ticket home. As he thought more he realized he had something he'd held dear since Satine's death. It was a golden-framed picture that he would never give up. Not for anything.
It wasn't like he was eager to leave Montmartre, but he was going to kill himself if he didn't.
But as this dark place felt nothing like the warm arms of Satine and the garret which he had left behind, he had no where else to go.
Ringing the doorbell once, twice, and a third time… finally a light when on in the curtains of darkness.
"WHO THE HELL IS IT?" I loud, angry voice came.
The door flung open and a gray bushy eye browed man came to the door.
"Father, I'm home." Christian whispered sadly. Slowly his father coxed him in… but not caringly… just slowly. As if he knew of all the night time wonders and evil Christian had seen.
That next morning Christian just relaxed and stayed in bed. At least until his father beat him out of it and that was a memory he'd never forget…
He was sound asleep when suddenly…
SMACK! Right across the head.
"Get your lazy ass out of bed you stupid boy!" His father roared. Right away Christian was on his feet and grabbing his pained head…
"Get ready. We're going to work." His father said flatly.
"No we're not!" Christian said back.
"That's where you're dead wrong boy! I told you not to leave for that evil place but you left… and now your back and under my roof! If it weren't for that stupid love filled brain of yours you wouldn't have to worry about anything that's happened to you!" His father hit him again.
"Do you not think no one around here has read that blasted book of yours? As soon as they're done they turn and go 'aren't you his father? Don't you have control?' Well I'm telling you right now boy, I will get control, and if you don't like it you can pack your bags right back up and leave!" Christian's father grabbed the small suitcase filled with little items Christian had carried with him and through them it at his son.
"She was a whore stupid… get over it. Who would waste their love on you?"
"NO!" Christian stood tall and proud against his father and was only knocked further down the ladder. A fist hitting Christian in the eye had him toppling over.
"You are a stupid boy…" His father commented.
Christian with all his might hid his sadness… his longing for his father's approval… his maddening rage to reach out and kill the man.
"Yes sir." Was all Christian did.
When he was young he had been taught in brutal ways how to behave… especially towards his father. He couldn't count the many times he wanted to lunge forward and strangle the god-forbidding man around the neck.
"Get out of my site." His father hissed and grabbed Christian by the arm and lugged him downstairs to the front door, pushing him out on to the street where he fell in a muddy puddle.
His father began laughing hysterically as he closed the door.
"Son of bitch." Christian mumbled pulling himself up. He took himself down the street to a hotel and checked himself in.
OK not too fancy but I think I can make this work… keyword: 'think' so please bare with me. R&R and tell me what you thunk…LOL k?