Author's Note: Sorry I took so long to update this. I was busy.
The graveyard was still, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The place was peaceful, tranquil, nice, gentle and some what strange. But death is always quiet; after all you can't talk after you're dead. In the shadow of the setting sun, you could make out three figures. One was a man, a bald man, an ex pianist, he was brilliant but his talent was overshadowed by that of Christian. But he was never jealous. Or was he? Even if he was he certainly never showed it, why would he be jealous of a writer?
Another man stood behind a wheelchair. He had lost his youthfulness and his touch with acting but that no longer mattered. For he was content, his eyes were old, his legs were weary and his face was wrinkled, he had lost a lot of his hair, his moustache had faded, just like himself, fading away into nothing.
The Moulin Rouge, the place where they had all come together, where they had introduced the world, to the bohemian ideals of Truth, Beauty, freedom and Love. Christian's play, the play that would help the ideals survive, 'Spectacular, Spectacular' a story about Love, a courtesan, a maharajah and a penniless sitar player, a famous ending and a book to follow, Perfect? Definitely.
The other a woman, a prostitute, a dancer, a singer and an idealist. Now an old lady with only the thought of life to comfort her now. As she looked at the graves, she wondered, is this it? Is there a life for me after death?, Who will take the place of our Shakespeare now? But she needn't have wondered, after all she'd find out soon enough.
They stared at the graves, memorising the words on them as if they knew they would never see them again. They didn't need to, but they did.
Author's Note: Well, that was it, guys. Hope you enjoyed it.
The graveyard was still, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The place was peaceful, tranquil, nice, gentle and some what strange. But death is always quiet; after all you can't talk after you're dead. In the shadow of the setting sun, you could make out three figures. One was a man, a bald man, an ex pianist, he was brilliant but his talent was overshadowed by that of Christian. But he was never jealous. Or was he? Even if he was he certainly never showed it, why would he be jealous of a writer?
Another man stood behind a wheelchair. He had lost his youthfulness and his touch with acting but that no longer mattered. For he was content, his eyes were old, his legs were weary and his face was wrinkled, he had lost a lot of his hair, his moustache had faded, just like himself, fading away into nothing.
The Moulin Rouge, the place where they had all come together, where they had introduced the world, to the bohemian ideals of Truth, Beauty, freedom and Love. Christian's play, the play that would help the ideals survive, 'Spectacular, Spectacular' a story about Love, a courtesan, a maharajah and a penniless sitar player, a famous ending and a book to follow, Perfect? Definitely.
The other a woman, a prostitute, a dancer, a singer and an idealist. Now an old lady with only the thought of life to comfort her now. As she looked at the graves, she wondered, is this it? Is there a life for me after death?, Who will take the place of our Shakespeare now? But she needn't have wondered, after all she'd find out soon enough.
They stared at the graves, memorising the words on them as if they knew they would never see them again. They didn't need to, but they did.
Author's Note: Well, that was it, guys. Hope you enjoyed it.