a/n: If you don't like to hear anything dark and dismal, then go away because you aren't going to like this fic. Sorry, this is lengthy.
disclaimer: Well, I would claim that I don't own anything and that I am not making any money, but everyone knows that noone makes any money when they post at FFN. The characters are Baz Luhrman's and the song lyrics belong to the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Third Eye Blind.
I heard your voice through a photograph
I thought it up it brought up the past
Once you know you can never go back
I've got to take it on the otherside
Centuries are what it meant to me
A cemetery where I marry the sea
Stranger things could never change my mind
I've got to take it on the otherside
Take it on the otherside
Christian clutched Satine's lifeless body to his chest. Only moments before, he watched on lovingly as her soul entered into the spiritual realm and left him behind in this physical world that he now felt himself bondaged. He lingered as long as the others would let him. He could not bring himself to let her go. Finally, he was approached by Harry who placed his hand on Christian's shoulder.
"She's gone, Christian," he said sympathetically. "Let her go."
"Noooo!!" Christian growled as he flung Zidler's hand away.
Toulouse approached cautiously. "Chreeschan," he began, "please you must."
"Leave us alooone," Christian growled yet again flinging his body around hoping to hit anything in the vicinity.
Finally everyone did as Christian wished. Noone said anything further and they all just sat back and watched the pathetic, heart-wrenching sight.
As time passed, Satine's corpse began to grow cold, and Christian was finally forced to accept the loss. Hot, silent tears rolled down his cheeks coming together at his chin. A violent sob forced them to fall and crash into Satine's supple and now more paler skin. Finally, Christian slowly loosened his grasp and allowed Satine's limp body to slide from his lap and fall by his knees. Christian threw back his head and let out a loud groan expressing his pain and grief.
Just as everyone thought that it might be safe to approach him again, he leapt to his feet and took off in a violent stride. He was unsure of the destination that his feet were now taking him. He seemed to have lost control of his own body being led by his heart to flee his suffering.
He found himself entering the elephant. He ran straight through the room and ran out to the balcony where he stopped short of tipping over the edge. He looked down at the street below as the cold night air wipped his loose locks about his face.
At least, three stories up. He would prefer a little higher, he thought to himself.
Just then, he heard someone enter the room behind him. He turned to see Toulouse.
"Didn't I ask you to leave us alone?" Christian asked.
"Chreeschun," Toulouse said in a panic. "What are you doing?"
"I can't live without her, Toulouse."
"But, you promissed to write your story, Chreeschun."
"What kind of story is this?" Christian snapped.
"I will tell you a story, Chreeschun."
"Go away," Christian said through gritted teeth.
"The angry boy a bit too insane, icing over a secret pain. You know you don't belong."
"I cannot go on, Toulouse!" Christian insisted.
"You're the first to fight and you're way too loud. You're the flash of light on her burial shroud." And with these words Christian fell apart. "I know something's wrong," Toulouse began to approach Christian slowly. "Well everyone I know has got a reason... to say put the past away," Christian sobbed. "I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend."
A well of anger rushed through Christian and he let out another cry of pain. Toulouse held out his hand and Christian looked at it undecidedly.
"Please, Chreeschun, write the story as you promised her." Toulouse pleaded. "You will only fail her if you don't."
Finally, Christian reached out and took Toulouse by the hand. Christian crumbled as Toulouse grasped him in a comforting embrace.
"Thank you, my friend." Christian said between sobs.
*************
Christian went to his flat and locked the door. He spied a half-empty bottle of absynthe across the room on a dresser. He reached for it and lifted it straight to his mouth and quickly guzzled down it's contents.
He approached the window and stared out of it longingly, hoping to see his love somewhere in the early morning sky. He searched the sparkling diamonds of the galaxy amidst the black void that wrapped around them, and he thought of Satine as death enveloped her. He closed his eyes in anguish, but it did him no good as the contrast of Satine's blood against her colorless skin was emblazened into his mind.
He tossed the empty bottle across the room. It hit the wall with a crash and shattered into tiny pieces and landed on the floor. He lifted his hand to his head and ran it through his hair.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his typewriter. He sat down and for a moment he just gazed at the old second-hand piece of junk. He turned again to gaze out of the window. Finally, after a few moments, he turned to the typewriter and began to type.
**************
He spent the next few months locked in his flat typing away. He only ate occassionly to sustain himself, and he only slept as long as his dreams would allow him. When, he was away from his typewriter he was being tormented by memories of Satine with the Duke. The only solace he could find was within the words of their story.
Every evening, Toulouse would try to coax him out, but Christian would refuse to even open the door.
"Chreeschun," he would plead. "Let me buy you dinner at the cafe. You must be famished."
"Toulouse, I must finish our story. Do not bother me."
And it would go on like this night after night. Toulouse would attempt to bring Christian out and Christian would refuse. Eventually, Christian became frustrated.
"Chreeschun," Toulouse began one night.
"For God's sakes, Toulouse, will you just leave me be." Christian bellowed, and after that Toulouse no longer knocked at Christian's door.
Christian felt a sense of relief now that he no longer had any distractions. More months passed and Christian kept the world shut out.
Finally, one autumn afternoon, he had finished his manuscript. He took in a solemn breath as he typed the words "The End." At last, it was finished. He had fulfilled his promise to Satine. He carefully removed the page and placed it in the worn leather binder where his other pages were secured. He tucked it under his arm, and approached the door. He paused for a moment before disengaging the latch. He took another long deep breath as he gently turned the doorknob.
He entered the hallway and climbed the stairs with the intention of finding Toulouse. His heart was, for once since Satine had broke it, gleeful.
He came to Toulouse's door and knocked rapturously, calling out to him. After several long moments, he got no response. He turned to see a child poking its head out the door from across the hallway.
"Have you seen monsieur Lautrec?" Christian asked.
The child only shook his head. Then, she spoke. "He was taken away months ago, sir."
"What?" Christian asked. "Why?"
"He was ill, monsieur, from the licquor, my mama says," the child explained. "We received word not very long ago that he had passed."
Christian's heart suddenly shattered. He could not utter a word. He only nodded his head and left the building. He perused about the streets of Montmatre. He saw many new faces and the familiar ones merely gawked at him.
He traveled towards the Moulin Rouge hoping to see Marie and he would even be glad to see Zidler. But Christian was shocked to find the abandoned wreckage which was once the hottest spot in Paris.
Christian was crushed as he entered the looted building. His true love was gone, his best friend, and now the Moulin Rouge. It seemed that Christian had allowed the Bohemian movement to leave him behind.
He took off running for the postmaster's. He did not falter a step. He now had only one last thing to do. Once, he had arrived there he approached the desk and asked the man behind the counter for two pieces of paper and a pen. He quickly jotted a note to his mother on one piece of paper asking her to see that his manuscript gets published and apologizing for this being his last correspondence with her. Then, on another piece of paper, he quickly jotted down an address. He placed the note to his mother into the binder with the manuscript. Then, he handed it to the postmaster.
"Sir, will you please send to this address in England." The man nodded and Christian left.
As night fell, Christian found himself once again at the Moulin Rouge. He was drunk from a bottle of absynthe he had picked up on his way there. He entered the building and made his way to the elephant room. He stepped out on the balcony as he had done just a year before. He looked to the stars and suddenly Satine materialized before him. In his drunken stupor, he wasn't aware that it was only illusion. He reached out for her and as he did he fell over the edge, and the world became silent.
The End
(taking a solemn breath)
disclaimer: Well, I would claim that I don't own anything and that I am not making any money, but everyone knows that noone makes any money when they post at FFN. The characters are Baz Luhrman's and the song lyrics belong to the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Third Eye Blind.
I heard your voice through a photograph
I thought it up it brought up the past
Once you know you can never go back
I've got to take it on the otherside
Centuries are what it meant to me
A cemetery where I marry the sea
Stranger things could never change my mind
I've got to take it on the otherside
Take it on the otherside
Christian clutched Satine's lifeless body to his chest. Only moments before, he watched on lovingly as her soul entered into the spiritual realm and left him behind in this physical world that he now felt himself bondaged. He lingered as long as the others would let him. He could not bring himself to let her go. Finally, he was approached by Harry who placed his hand on Christian's shoulder.
"She's gone, Christian," he said sympathetically. "Let her go."
"Noooo!!" Christian growled as he flung Zidler's hand away.
Toulouse approached cautiously. "Chreeschan," he began, "please you must."
"Leave us alooone," Christian growled yet again flinging his body around hoping to hit anything in the vicinity.
Finally everyone did as Christian wished. Noone said anything further and they all just sat back and watched the pathetic, heart-wrenching sight.
As time passed, Satine's corpse began to grow cold, and Christian was finally forced to accept the loss. Hot, silent tears rolled down his cheeks coming together at his chin. A violent sob forced them to fall and crash into Satine's supple and now more paler skin. Finally, Christian slowly loosened his grasp and allowed Satine's limp body to slide from his lap and fall by his knees. Christian threw back his head and let out a loud groan expressing his pain and grief.
Just as everyone thought that it might be safe to approach him again, he leapt to his feet and took off in a violent stride. He was unsure of the destination that his feet were now taking him. He seemed to have lost control of his own body being led by his heart to flee his suffering.
He found himself entering the elephant. He ran straight through the room and ran out to the balcony where he stopped short of tipping over the edge. He looked down at the street below as the cold night air wipped his loose locks about his face.
At least, three stories up. He would prefer a little higher, he thought to himself.
Just then, he heard someone enter the room behind him. He turned to see Toulouse.
"Didn't I ask you to leave us alone?" Christian asked.
"Chreeschun," Toulouse said in a panic. "What are you doing?"
"I can't live without her, Toulouse."
"But, you promissed to write your story, Chreeschun."
"What kind of story is this?" Christian snapped.
"I will tell you a story, Chreeschun."
"Go away," Christian said through gritted teeth.
"The angry boy a bit too insane, icing over a secret pain. You know you don't belong."
"I cannot go on, Toulouse!" Christian insisted.
"You're the first to fight and you're way too loud. You're the flash of light on her burial shroud." And with these words Christian fell apart. "I know something's wrong," Toulouse began to approach Christian slowly. "Well everyone I know has got a reason... to say put the past away," Christian sobbed. "I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend."
A well of anger rushed through Christian and he let out another cry of pain. Toulouse held out his hand and Christian looked at it undecidedly.
"Please, Chreeschun, write the story as you promised her." Toulouse pleaded. "You will only fail her if you don't."
Finally, Christian reached out and took Toulouse by the hand. Christian crumbled as Toulouse grasped him in a comforting embrace.
"Thank you, my friend." Christian said between sobs.
*************
Christian went to his flat and locked the door. He spied a half-empty bottle of absynthe across the room on a dresser. He reached for it and lifted it straight to his mouth and quickly guzzled down it's contents.
He approached the window and stared out of it longingly, hoping to see his love somewhere in the early morning sky. He searched the sparkling diamonds of the galaxy amidst the black void that wrapped around them, and he thought of Satine as death enveloped her. He closed his eyes in anguish, but it did him no good as the contrast of Satine's blood against her colorless skin was emblazened into his mind.
He tossed the empty bottle across the room. It hit the wall with a crash and shattered into tiny pieces and landed on the floor. He lifted his hand to his head and ran it through his hair.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his typewriter. He sat down and for a moment he just gazed at the old second-hand piece of junk. He turned again to gaze out of the window. Finally, after a few moments, he turned to the typewriter and began to type.
**************
He spent the next few months locked in his flat typing away. He only ate occassionly to sustain himself, and he only slept as long as his dreams would allow him. When, he was away from his typewriter he was being tormented by memories of Satine with the Duke. The only solace he could find was within the words of their story.
Every evening, Toulouse would try to coax him out, but Christian would refuse to even open the door.
"Chreeschun," he would plead. "Let me buy you dinner at the cafe. You must be famished."
"Toulouse, I must finish our story. Do not bother me."
And it would go on like this night after night. Toulouse would attempt to bring Christian out and Christian would refuse. Eventually, Christian became frustrated.
"Chreeschun," Toulouse began one night.
"For God's sakes, Toulouse, will you just leave me be." Christian bellowed, and after that Toulouse no longer knocked at Christian's door.
Christian felt a sense of relief now that he no longer had any distractions. More months passed and Christian kept the world shut out.
Finally, one autumn afternoon, he had finished his manuscript. He took in a solemn breath as he typed the words "The End." At last, it was finished. He had fulfilled his promise to Satine. He carefully removed the page and placed it in the worn leather binder where his other pages were secured. He tucked it under his arm, and approached the door. He paused for a moment before disengaging the latch. He took another long deep breath as he gently turned the doorknob.
He entered the hallway and climbed the stairs with the intention of finding Toulouse. His heart was, for once since Satine had broke it, gleeful.
He came to Toulouse's door and knocked rapturously, calling out to him. After several long moments, he got no response. He turned to see a child poking its head out the door from across the hallway.
"Have you seen monsieur Lautrec?" Christian asked.
The child only shook his head. Then, she spoke. "He was taken away months ago, sir."
"What?" Christian asked. "Why?"
"He was ill, monsieur, from the licquor, my mama says," the child explained. "We received word not very long ago that he had passed."
Christian's heart suddenly shattered. He could not utter a word. He only nodded his head and left the building. He perused about the streets of Montmatre. He saw many new faces and the familiar ones merely gawked at him.
He traveled towards the Moulin Rouge hoping to see Marie and he would even be glad to see Zidler. But Christian was shocked to find the abandoned wreckage which was once the hottest spot in Paris.
Christian was crushed as he entered the looted building. His true love was gone, his best friend, and now the Moulin Rouge. It seemed that Christian had allowed the Bohemian movement to leave him behind.
He took off running for the postmaster's. He did not falter a step. He now had only one last thing to do. Once, he had arrived there he approached the desk and asked the man behind the counter for two pieces of paper and a pen. He quickly jotted a note to his mother on one piece of paper asking her to see that his manuscript gets published and apologizing for this being his last correspondence with her. Then, on another piece of paper, he quickly jotted down an address. He placed the note to his mother into the binder with the manuscript. Then, he handed it to the postmaster.
"Sir, will you please send to this address in England." The man nodded and Christian left.
As night fell, Christian found himself once again at the Moulin Rouge. He was drunk from a bottle of absynthe he had picked up on his way there. He entered the building and made his way to the elephant room. He stepped out on the balcony as he had done just a year before. He looked to the stars and suddenly Satine materialized before him. In his drunken stupor, he wasn't aware that it was only illusion. He reached out for her and as he did he fell over the edge, and the world became silent.
The End
(taking a solemn breath)