Realization

by She's a Star

Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge belongs to Bazz Luhrmann.

A/N: I just watched Moulin Rouge. It majorly depressed me. I sat down to write, and this
is the product.....

~ * ~

I should be crying right now.
I know I should be. Everyone else is. Tears are streaming down their faces, sighs
of woe are escaping their lips. The realization that she is truly gone surrounds me.
I loved her. I love her. She was, she IS everything to me, and she always will be.
Every time I close my eyes, visions of her are so clear, so vivid. The first night we
met...the way she looked at me as I began to sing for her. When she burst in crying after
her encounter with the Duke, seeming so small, so meek, so terrified.
...The blood escaping from her lips, those horrible coughs that shook her whole
body...her slender figure going limp in my arms after whispered good byes.
I cried then.
I should be crying.
But my grief...my pain...is beyond tears. What are they, anyway? Just water.
Meaningless things. They don't even begin to express the way I feel. My heart is empty,
hollow...
And yet it aches so terribly.
I need her to live, to breathe, to survive. I need to feel her lips against mine, her
hair brushing against my cheek...I need to hear that musical laugh, that soft, sweet voice.
Why did she have to go? Out of all the people, all of the terrible, awful people in
the world, why did SHE have to leave? Satine never did anything wrong. She did what
she needed to to keep herself off of the streets. Nobody really seemed to bother to know
her, love her, except myself. They loved the image of her, the idea of her. The seductive,
erotic temptress who seemed unattainable, but could be taken for the right amount of
money.
That wasn't her.
That isn't her.
She was...is the sweetest, most amazing, insightful, beautiful woman in the world.
She's gone now.
She drowned in a sea of tears and blood.
But at least I was with her. At least she died in my arms.
I can't imagine the guilt I would feel if I'd left...if I hadn't gone back. She would
have died there, alone, without the one person who cherished her most.
And yet I was so awful to her...to think she was on the verge of death, and yet I
yelled at her.
"Why won't you let me pay you?"
"Tell me you don't love me!"
"I paid my whore!"
I hate myself for it. Why did I speak to her like that? She's everything...how could
I...?
It should have been me. It should have, and I wish it had been. She was so young,
she didn't deserve to have her life cut short. But if it had been me, it would be her sitting
here, feeling so alone, only accompanied by pain.
Why couldn't it have been the Duke?
He considered her a mere possession...he's probably found someone else by now.
Some other courtesan. He's probably forgotten Satine ever existed by now.
It's disgusting...ironic...he is truly evil, and yet he escaped without feeling any
pain. Without experiencing any loss. Satine was always just a possession to him. A
beautiful face...a diamond.
The Moulin Rouge will be closed soon. But it doesn't really matter if the Duke
shuts it down or not. It died along with my beloved. The dancers and prostitutes who
grew up with her, Harold and Marie, who loved her as if she was their daughter, are all
devastated.
Loud music will never pulsate through the Moulin Rouge again. Colorful skirts
won't fly about. And an angel, no, a goddess, will never appear from the sky as glitter
rains down, announcing her presence. The men will never again be teased with a song of
seduction and a knowing smile.
I will never again dance across the sky.
I will never again sing with her, our voices blending perfectly.
I will never again say I love you.