Disclaimer - I don't own anything. Baz does.
Author's Note - I don't really like this one very much, but I'm posting it anyway. . . So take pity and be nice, please. . .
Title - I Miss You
Silence. Darkness. Shadows.
The small cemetery was full of all three. Not a sound could be heard, with the exception of the occasional howl of the wind. A thick blanket of darkness and shadows coated the entire area, as did a layer of snow. The moon was no where to be found in the night's sky, hidden to the village of Montmartre.
The cemetery was small and crowded, with far too many graves packed together. They were practically on top of one another, as close together as they were. The headstones over the graves were small and crumbling, with only the deceased's name and date of birth and death chiseled in them.
The fence that once stood around the perimeter of the graveyard had long since fallen, leaving only a few splintered fragments behind, the results of vandalism and theft.
It wasn't much to look at, but it was the only place for the 'Children of the Revolution', as they liked to be called, to bury their dead. And that they did, despite the lack of space. They simply couldn't afford to bury their loved ones outside of the village.
A tiny house once stood at the corner of the property, but it had been transformed into merely a crumbled down, dilapidated shack, just as run- down as the rest of the cemetery.
The sound of soft footprints in the snow interrupted the silence, as a man crossed the snowy graves.
He was a young man, only about twenty-seven years old. He was quite a handsome man, in fact, although he wore a face of sorrow. He had dark, chocolate brown hair, and a light shadow of a beard. His facial features were soft and gentle, though lined with pain and grief.
He wandered through the maze of graves, moving towards the back. He knew the exact location of the grave he was looking for, and found it quickly, nestled between a tree and another gravestone.
He paused for a moment as he stared down at the grave, reading the brief words on the headstone to himself. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, before a wave of emotions hit him.
A choked sob escaped the young man, and he fell to his knees unceremoniously in the snow in front of the grave. He buried his face in his hands as sobs continued to wrack his body.
The sounds of his painful sobs seemed to echo throughout the night as they continued to escape the young man, his heart wrenched in pain over the thoughts of his deceased loved one.
Minutes passed, and the young man fought to regain his composure.
After a few forced deep breaths, the man wiped his tears away and fought to control the quivering of his lower lip. He opened his mouth to speak, but not a sound came out. It took most of his will to force the words to escape without the accompaniment of his tears.
"I miss you," he softly whispered into the night, trying to relieve himself of his grief.
"I know. . . It's been a while since I. . . since I last visited. . . but it's just. . . so. . . hard. . . So hard to accept that. . . that. . . that you're really gone. . ." His voice broke, tears threatening to fall. ". . . I think about you. . . all the time still. . ." One of his hands clenched itself into a fist and he pounded it into the snow. He was silent for a few moments, before he continued speaking.
"I live in London now. . . I moved there shortly after you. . . after you. . . died." He struggled to get his words out. "Everything's changed since then. . . Nini died last year. . . After that, the Narcoleptic Argentinean disappeared. . . He was so overcome with grief. . . And then the Doctor died two monthes ago. . . It's as if the world has been overrun with death. . ." He raised his eyes to the sky, staring at the large, black expanse of emptiness.
"I'm married now. . . And pretty soon, I'll be a father. . . I'm happy now, finally. It's been. . . a hard time for me, but. . . things are finally turning around. . .
". . .I know that. . . that you're up there. . . watching over me. And I hope that. . . that you're happy for me. . . And that you'll be there. . . when my child is born. . . I know how much you wanted a child. . ."
He raised his sleeve, wiping the tears away. "I know that it's been. . . so long since. . . you died, but I still. . . I still miss you so much. . . I don't think the pain of your death will ever go away entirely. . . You taught me so much and I never got a chance to thank you for the time we had together. . . For all the things I learned from you. . . I just wish we had had a longer time. . ."
A single snowflake fell, landing on the young man's nose. He looked up at the sky, and nearly a minute later, the rest of the snowflakes began their journey to the ground.
"I miss you. . . so much. . ." He murmured, repeating it once, then twice more.
He shivered, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "I would've brought some flowers. . . to put on your grave. . . because I know how much you liked them, but. . . I couldn't find any winter flowers. . ." His voice drifted off, his thoughts and memories once more taking over.
"Christian??"
The soft, feminine voice stirred him from his musings, and he glanced up as the owner kneeled next to him.
"It's getting late. . . You shouldn't be out here. . . Let's go inside, before you and I both catch a cold. . ."
Christian smiled crookedly, as he looked back to the grave. "The wife," he murmured, as if in response to a silent question. "Alright. . . Let's go. . ."
The woman smiled, standing up slowly. Extending her hand, she helped to pull Christian up as well. "Merry Christmas, darling," she said softly.
"Merry Christmas, Satine," he murmured in response.
In unison, both looked back to the grave, and whispered, "Merry Christmas, Toulouse."
Author's Note - I don't really like this one very much, but I'm posting it anyway. . . So take pity and be nice, please. . .
Title - I Miss You
Silence. Darkness. Shadows.
The small cemetery was full of all three. Not a sound could be heard, with the exception of the occasional howl of the wind. A thick blanket of darkness and shadows coated the entire area, as did a layer of snow. The moon was no where to be found in the night's sky, hidden to the village of Montmartre.
The cemetery was small and crowded, with far too many graves packed together. They were practically on top of one another, as close together as they were. The headstones over the graves were small and crumbling, with only the deceased's name and date of birth and death chiseled in them.
The fence that once stood around the perimeter of the graveyard had long since fallen, leaving only a few splintered fragments behind, the results of vandalism and theft.
It wasn't much to look at, but it was the only place for the 'Children of the Revolution', as they liked to be called, to bury their dead. And that they did, despite the lack of space. They simply couldn't afford to bury their loved ones outside of the village.
A tiny house once stood at the corner of the property, but it had been transformed into merely a crumbled down, dilapidated shack, just as run- down as the rest of the cemetery.
The sound of soft footprints in the snow interrupted the silence, as a man crossed the snowy graves.
He was a young man, only about twenty-seven years old. He was quite a handsome man, in fact, although he wore a face of sorrow. He had dark, chocolate brown hair, and a light shadow of a beard. His facial features were soft and gentle, though lined with pain and grief.
He wandered through the maze of graves, moving towards the back. He knew the exact location of the grave he was looking for, and found it quickly, nestled between a tree and another gravestone.
He paused for a moment as he stared down at the grave, reading the brief words on the headstone to himself. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, before a wave of emotions hit him.
A choked sob escaped the young man, and he fell to his knees unceremoniously in the snow in front of the grave. He buried his face in his hands as sobs continued to wrack his body.
The sounds of his painful sobs seemed to echo throughout the night as they continued to escape the young man, his heart wrenched in pain over the thoughts of his deceased loved one.
Minutes passed, and the young man fought to regain his composure.
After a few forced deep breaths, the man wiped his tears away and fought to control the quivering of his lower lip. He opened his mouth to speak, but not a sound came out. It took most of his will to force the words to escape without the accompaniment of his tears.
"I miss you," he softly whispered into the night, trying to relieve himself of his grief.
"I know. . . It's been a while since I. . . since I last visited. . . but it's just. . . so. . . hard. . . So hard to accept that. . . that. . . that you're really gone. . ." His voice broke, tears threatening to fall. ". . . I think about you. . . all the time still. . ." One of his hands clenched itself into a fist and he pounded it into the snow. He was silent for a few moments, before he continued speaking.
"I live in London now. . . I moved there shortly after you. . . after you. . . died." He struggled to get his words out. "Everything's changed since then. . . Nini died last year. . . After that, the Narcoleptic Argentinean disappeared. . . He was so overcome with grief. . . And then the Doctor died two monthes ago. . . It's as if the world has been overrun with death. . ." He raised his eyes to the sky, staring at the large, black expanse of emptiness.
"I'm married now. . . And pretty soon, I'll be a father. . . I'm happy now, finally. It's been. . . a hard time for me, but. . . things are finally turning around. . .
". . .I know that. . . that you're up there. . . watching over me. And I hope that. . . that you're happy for me. . . And that you'll be there. . . when my child is born. . . I know how much you wanted a child. . ."
He raised his sleeve, wiping the tears away. "I know that it's been. . . so long since. . . you died, but I still. . . I still miss you so much. . . I don't think the pain of your death will ever go away entirely. . . You taught me so much and I never got a chance to thank you for the time we had together. . . For all the things I learned from you. . . I just wish we had had a longer time. . ."
A single snowflake fell, landing on the young man's nose. He looked up at the sky, and nearly a minute later, the rest of the snowflakes began their journey to the ground.
"I miss you. . . so much. . ." He murmured, repeating it once, then twice more.
He shivered, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "I would've brought some flowers. . . to put on your grave. . . because I know how much you liked them, but. . . I couldn't find any winter flowers. . ." His voice drifted off, his thoughts and memories once more taking over.
"Christian??"
The soft, feminine voice stirred him from his musings, and he glanced up as the owner kneeled next to him.
"It's getting late. . . You shouldn't be out here. . . Let's go inside, before you and I both catch a cold. . ."
Christian smiled crookedly, as he looked back to the grave. "The wife," he murmured, as if in response to a silent question. "Alright. . . Let's go. . ."
The woman smiled, standing up slowly. Extending her hand, she helped to pull Christian up as well. "Merry Christmas, darling," she said softly.
"Merry Christmas, Satine," he murmured in response.
In unison, both looked back to the grave, and whispered, "Merry Christmas, Toulouse."