Christian's Tale
Disclaimer: I don't own
Moulin Rouge or the characters in it. But some characters in this story are of
my own creation.
Author's Note: This is a
story about Christian in Moulin Rouge. It begins from his birth, goes into his
childhood and teens, where he develops interest in writing, and finally into
his adulthood. This is a 'brother' fic to my fellow author Dauphin's fic
entitled 'Satine's Tale'. If you haven't read it (which I seriously doubt
because Dauphin is such a popular author), go read it now!
Not much is known about
Christian in Moulin Rouge the movie so I'm making up things as I go along.
Oh yes, and I didn't
exactly know what color eyes Christian had so I just made him have mint green
eyes. Hope there won't be any violent objections or something.
The
man plain brown coat cuddled the tiny little bundle of life in his arms. Small
though it was, he could still feel the little baby inside the bundle radiating
life, kicking his chubby little legs and closing his tiny fists.
"Mister Hardling," the man looked up at the short,
bespectacled and balding doctor standing in front of him.
"What's the matter now," the man asked, not in the least bit
worried. Now that his wife had given birth to their first child, nothing else
could diminish the joy he felt. He was elated! Yes, for the first time in his
life there was something he could look forward to. No more sleepless nights, no
more tiring accounting, no more countless hours spent arguing over business
deals! Now there was just the peace and happiness in waking up every morning to
see his beloved son…
"Mister Hardling.
Your wife… she… didn't… couldn't… she's… gone," the doctor finished lamely,
staring down at his toes. George Richard Hardling almost dropped the bundle of
life he was carrying. He felt as though the energy had been sucked out of his
whole body, and for a while he felt empty and lifeless. But soon his strength
came back, but it wasn't the same, and would never be. For now George Richard
Hardling was filled with sorrow, despair, hurt and anger.
"I… I… need to sit down…" Mr. Hardling stammered, and reached
out to grip the sides of a chair nearby, almost forgetting that he was holding
his baby boy in his hands. "Mister Hardling!" shouted the doctor, and quickly
seized the bundle before it crashed to the floor. Then the doctor handed the
baby back to its father with a worried look on his face. "Don't you want to
know how your wife died? Where do you want her buried? Do you want to say
anything to her?" the doctor pressed on with his questions.
George Richard Hardling cast a smoldering glance at the
doctor. "Doctor… what's the use of that? She's gone… forever. I can't… bring
myself to accept that fact. There will be no funeral. She will be buried in the
graveyard behind Kellingston Church," he said with finality.
The doctor, still persistent, argued, "But Mr. Hardling! What
about the child?! He should at least take a look at his mother!" But George
Richard Hardling would hear no more of the doctor's word.
" I SAID! THERE WILL BE NO
FUNERAL. MY WORD IS FINAL." And with that unexpected outburst of rage, Mr.
Hardling stood up, cradling his son protectively against his chest, as if
afraid to lose yet another loved one, and walked indignantly out of the
hospital, leaving a mortified doctor standing alone in the hospital corridor.
George Richard Hardling got into the sleek black carriage
that was waiting for him. As soon as he shut the door the man whipped the horse
and the carriage began to move. George Richard's eyes traveled down to his son,
and studied his son. Strands of soft coffee brown hair shrouded a small face.
But what was most striking were the mint green eyes, which were now closed in
deep slumber.
And it was then that George Richard Hardling made the promise
of his lifetime. There, in the small cushioned compartment of the black
carriage riding bumpily through the bustling London town, George Richard
Hardling vowed that he would look after his motherless child as best as he
could.
Then Mr. Hardling realized something. His son had no name!
Mr. Hardling recalled the weeks when his wife was alive, and he remembered what
she had said… "…Christian is the perfect name. It's pure and decent for our
child…" Mr. Hardling had then asked his wife what would happen if their child
turned out to be a girl. Mrs. Hardling, however, laughed and shook her head. "I'm
certain it's going to be a boy," she had said. Lily Eleanor Hardling always had
a knack for these sorts of things.
And so, George Richard Hardling's son was called Christian.
This is the story of his childhood. And what happens when he
is grown up.
Note: ARGH!! This probably
sucks!!!! A little bit of my friend Dauphin is beginning to rub off on me.
