Wow. My first Moulin Rouge fic. I fell in love with it months ago, and I'd
been reading the stories for forever, saying I could NEVER taint the
stories because I've actually never written for a movie. But because I'm
semi-insanely jealous of a good friend of mine, I was in a fit of rage and
I wrote this as Nini.
And yes, you're tired of my babble.
And if it sucks, go 'head and tell me! And if it doesn't... wow!
-----
She's still here, y'know.
Not physically, or anythin', but she's here.
They haven't gotten rid of her costumes or anythin'. They're still hanging back there in their own section, like someone's gonna come and put 'em on.
And even after she's gone, she still taunts us. The customers come in and it's not the same. They don't got that same look in their eyes.
And it's 'cause she's gone.
Dammit. I hated that bitch when she was alive, and I even hate her now she's dead. Her and her dreams of bein' an actress! Having the best of everything!
And getting that writer.
Damn her.
I hate her. That's all I'm thinkin' right now. I'm snatching' down those dresses of hersâ€"that red one that she liked so much, that stupid diamond corset and top hat... all of it. And now I'm standin' in front of the fireplace, watching the flames dance. And I look at all the clothing in my arms and it makes me madder. Damned Satine, with her beauty and voice! So WHAT if I was jealous of her? It didn't matter. She KNEW she was perfectâ€"always so much more beautiful, so much better, so much more talented than the rest of us were. She KNEW I hated her; KNEW I was jealous of her.
But she didn't care.
And that just made me madder.
So bye bye, Satine. I'm throwing your clothes into the fire. But I know I can't burn them and REALLY get rid of you. You're everywhere, you redhead bitch. You and your dreams and the dreams of your little poet... they're every damn where.
Damn you.
And yes, you're tired of my babble.
And if it sucks, go 'head and tell me! And if it doesn't... wow!
-----
She's still here, y'know.
Not physically, or anythin', but she's here.
They haven't gotten rid of her costumes or anythin'. They're still hanging back there in their own section, like someone's gonna come and put 'em on.
And even after she's gone, she still taunts us. The customers come in and it's not the same. They don't got that same look in their eyes.
And it's 'cause she's gone.
Dammit. I hated that bitch when she was alive, and I even hate her now she's dead. Her and her dreams of bein' an actress! Having the best of everything!
And getting that writer.
Damn her.
I hate her. That's all I'm thinkin' right now. I'm snatching' down those dresses of hersâ€"that red one that she liked so much, that stupid diamond corset and top hat... all of it. And now I'm standin' in front of the fireplace, watching the flames dance. And I look at all the clothing in my arms and it makes me madder. Damned Satine, with her beauty and voice! So WHAT if I was jealous of her? It didn't matter. She KNEW she was perfectâ€"always so much more beautiful, so much better, so much more talented than the rest of us were. She KNEW I hated her; KNEW I was jealous of her.
But she didn't care.
And that just made me madder.
So bye bye, Satine. I'm throwing your clothes into the fire. But I know I can't burn them and REALLY get rid of you. You're everywhere, you redhead bitch. You and your dreams and the dreams of your little poet... they're every damn where.
Damn you.