Title: "I'm Sorry, Mama" (this is subject to change)
Summary: I was up late one night battling insomnia and high on Pepsi and
Cookies, and this is the result. It is Satine's childhood. WARNING: It's a
rather dark fan fiction.
Disclaimer: You know the drill-
In the movie = not mine
Not in the movie = mine
Reviews: Please, please, PLEASE! I'm sacrificing my dignity and begging! I hope you are all HAPPY now!
Chapter 3
June 24, 1879
~ Etampes, France
Why aren't I getting sick? I always get sick when I rock back and forth too much...Why aren't I getting sick? Am I dead? Satine wondered as she pulled her knees closer to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She continued rocking, hoping and praying that the familiar unsettling feeling in her stomach would return to confirm that she was in fact still alive and still herself.
Two days ago had been the best day of her life. And only now did she realize that it had been good to be true. Now, it was all crashing on her like a ton of bricks. But she was more frightened by the fact that she didn't feel grief. She felt numb, and she wasn't sure if maybe the hurt had killed her. Part of her panicked at this thought and the other felt relieved at the prospect.
June 21, 1879
~ Tran Nombré 16 en Route Tours
"Are you warmer now, Sa-Teeny?" Peter asked as he wrapped his navy, tropical wool jacket around her and pulled her closer. The train was nearly empty and the conductor had not put all the coal into the heater at once, so the chill was abundant. Not only that, but all the jostling of the ride had made her stomach weak.
"That's better," she replied as she slid her arms into the sleeves and pulled the collar close so that the material tickled her eyelashes and the scent of cedar and whiskey . She wiggled closer under her father's embrace and looked up at him.
"Where are we going, Papa?" she inquired. Peter had his eyes closed and his head tipped back in the beginning of a nap, but opened them and in a shock of sapphire, looked down to her.
"Tours, honey." He replied, "It's where your Uncle Colum lives, with his wife, Veronique. Do you remember? They had the dog..." Satine snapped the buttons on the jacket.
"Oh, yeah." She responded, turning her head and looking out the window. Outside it was pitch black. Even the houses were desolate and dim. It was as if when night came, everyone just surrendered. Except, she noted, a small street light on the corner. It was small, maybe two meters from the ground, the glass was wavy and inconsistent, and the light was dim. But it was still lit. And Satine could definitely identify with that streetlight. No matter how frightened it was of the dark and no matter how much it wanted to surrender, it didn't.
"Whatcha thinkin', Sa-Teeny?" Peter asked. Satine ran her finger along the cool metal of the window.
"I'm scared." She spoke softly.
Peter nodded slowly. "Honestly, me too."
Satine's eyebrows crunched together. "What's going to happen?"
"I don't know." He said quickly.
"If you don't know, why are we going?" Peter pulled Satine up onto his lap so that she faced him. His eyes were dark with sincerity she had only glimpsed once or twice and his jaw was set in a firm manner she had only seen the one time she had cut his hair while he napped.
"Satine, you've got to be serious with me now. You've got to prove to me you're a big girl." He explained, holding her shoulders.
"Now, what happened tonight was that I made a realization: your mother is sick. And I've got to do something about it because," he paused, took a breath, and finished, "It might be my fault. Who knows. But first, I have to make sure you're safe. Your mother loves you, baby, I know she does. She was a good woman. But now, you shouldn't be around her. So I'm taking you to Tours, where you'll be safe. Then I'm going to come back, help your mother, and we'll come down to Tours with you. We'll be a family, I promise." Satine chewed the inside of her mouth. That was the only thing she wanted ever since she could remember. She nodded.
"Okay." He smiled and kissed her forehead.
"That's my girl. Now get some sleep. This will look better in daylight." And it was last time Satine ever heard her father's voice.
June 24, 1879
~ Etampes, France
The squealing of brakes, popping of tracks, the dreadful screams of passengers, and crunching of metal was what eventually woke Satine up. The shattered glass sprayed in her face and burned like a blowtorch and ripped the delicate skin on her face. She began screaming but couldn't hear Peter. His mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear anything and soon her vision was taken. ~
Now, with her wounds on her face hot, she gripped the over-sized sleeves of the jacket and gritted her teeth. Why had that conductor fallen asleep! He should have had some coffee or anything, or just had someone else to go in his place. But it didn't matter. It was over. Her Papa was dead, the only person she ever loved. He was gone. He left. And now she was stuck with...
"No..." she whispered as lava-hot tears streamed from her eyes and the salt of them scorched her wounds. The police officer seated at the desk across the room looked up.
"Aw, cherié, don't cry. You're Mama's coming for you." Satine leaned her head back on the wood of the bench and took a breath. He said that her Mama loved her, that she was just sick. He was going to help her, make her better. Then they would be a family.
We may never be a family again, but I can still make her better. I'll make her better...I know I can...
~*~
"Yes...yes. That's him!" howled Marguerite as she looked at the bloodied body of Peter, lying on a metal slab. She fell into the arms of the officer next to her, a very attractive man of a little over twenty. She clutched him as her wracking sobs echoed throughout the police station. She was twenty-four, and she was a widow! Black and veils! How would she ever function?
"Would you like to see your daughter?" the man asked. Marguerite looked up and suspended her feigned sobs.
"Oh...yes, I suppose she deserves to be identified too...it's so awful! My husband and baby murdered!" she began to sob but the man shook his head.
"No, by the Grace of God, your daughter is alive. Her injuries are pretty bad, but will heal. She's in the other room." Marguerite glared at him, her puffy eyes and wild hair intensifying the glower.
"Alive? Well...that's...wonderful."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Author's Note: Let's just remember: I WARNED YOU! But anyway, thanks to all whom reviewed! More to come!
Summary: I was up late one night battling insomnia and high on Pepsi and
Cookies, and this is the result. It is Satine's childhood. WARNING: It's a
rather dark fan fiction.
Disclaimer: You know the drill-
In the movie = not mine
Not in the movie = mine
Reviews: Please, please, PLEASE! I'm sacrificing my dignity and begging! I hope you are all HAPPY now!
Chapter 3
June 24, 1879
~ Etampes, France
Why aren't I getting sick? I always get sick when I rock back and forth too much...Why aren't I getting sick? Am I dead? Satine wondered as she pulled her knees closer to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She continued rocking, hoping and praying that the familiar unsettling feeling in her stomach would return to confirm that she was in fact still alive and still herself.
Two days ago had been the best day of her life. And only now did she realize that it had been good to be true. Now, it was all crashing on her like a ton of bricks. But she was more frightened by the fact that she didn't feel grief. She felt numb, and she wasn't sure if maybe the hurt had killed her. Part of her panicked at this thought and the other felt relieved at the prospect.
June 21, 1879
~ Tran Nombré 16 en Route Tours
"Are you warmer now, Sa-Teeny?" Peter asked as he wrapped his navy, tropical wool jacket around her and pulled her closer. The train was nearly empty and the conductor had not put all the coal into the heater at once, so the chill was abundant. Not only that, but all the jostling of the ride had made her stomach weak.
"That's better," she replied as she slid her arms into the sleeves and pulled the collar close so that the material tickled her eyelashes and the scent of cedar and whiskey . She wiggled closer under her father's embrace and looked up at him.
"Where are we going, Papa?" she inquired. Peter had his eyes closed and his head tipped back in the beginning of a nap, but opened them and in a shock of sapphire, looked down to her.
"Tours, honey." He replied, "It's where your Uncle Colum lives, with his wife, Veronique. Do you remember? They had the dog..." Satine snapped the buttons on the jacket.
"Oh, yeah." She responded, turning her head and looking out the window. Outside it was pitch black. Even the houses were desolate and dim. It was as if when night came, everyone just surrendered. Except, she noted, a small street light on the corner. It was small, maybe two meters from the ground, the glass was wavy and inconsistent, and the light was dim. But it was still lit. And Satine could definitely identify with that streetlight. No matter how frightened it was of the dark and no matter how much it wanted to surrender, it didn't.
"Whatcha thinkin', Sa-Teeny?" Peter asked. Satine ran her finger along the cool metal of the window.
"I'm scared." She spoke softly.
Peter nodded slowly. "Honestly, me too."
Satine's eyebrows crunched together. "What's going to happen?"
"I don't know." He said quickly.
"If you don't know, why are we going?" Peter pulled Satine up onto his lap so that she faced him. His eyes were dark with sincerity she had only glimpsed once or twice and his jaw was set in a firm manner she had only seen the one time she had cut his hair while he napped.
"Satine, you've got to be serious with me now. You've got to prove to me you're a big girl." He explained, holding her shoulders.
"Now, what happened tonight was that I made a realization: your mother is sick. And I've got to do something about it because," he paused, took a breath, and finished, "It might be my fault. Who knows. But first, I have to make sure you're safe. Your mother loves you, baby, I know she does. She was a good woman. But now, you shouldn't be around her. So I'm taking you to Tours, where you'll be safe. Then I'm going to come back, help your mother, and we'll come down to Tours with you. We'll be a family, I promise." Satine chewed the inside of her mouth. That was the only thing she wanted ever since she could remember. She nodded.
"Okay." He smiled and kissed her forehead.
"That's my girl. Now get some sleep. This will look better in daylight." And it was last time Satine ever heard her father's voice.
June 24, 1879
~ Etampes, France
The squealing of brakes, popping of tracks, the dreadful screams of passengers, and crunching of metal was what eventually woke Satine up. The shattered glass sprayed in her face and burned like a blowtorch and ripped the delicate skin on her face. She began screaming but couldn't hear Peter. His mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear anything and soon her vision was taken. ~
Now, with her wounds on her face hot, she gripped the over-sized sleeves of the jacket and gritted her teeth. Why had that conductor fallen asleep! He should have had some coffee or anything, or just had someone else to go in his place. But it didn't matter. It was over. Her Papa was dead, the only person she ever loved. He was gone. He left. And now she was stuck with...
"No..." she whispered as lava-hot tears streamed from her eyes and the salt of them scorched her wounds. The police officer seated at the desk across the room looked up.
"Aw, cherié, don't cry. You're Mama's coming for you." Satine leaned her head back on the wood of the bench and took a breath. He said that her Mama loved her, that she was just sick. He was going to help her, make her better. Then they would be a family.
We may never be a family again, but I can still make her better. I'll make her better...I know I can...
~*~
"Yes...yes. That's him!" howled Marguerite as she looked at the bloodied body of Peter, lying on a metal slab. She fell into the arms of the officer next to her, a very attractive man of a little over twenty. She clutched him as her wracking sobs echoed throughout the police station. She was twenty-four, and she was a widow! Black and veils! How would she ever function?
"Would you like to see your daughter?" the man asked. Marguerite looked up and suspended her feigned sobs.
"Oh...yes, I suppose she deserves to be identified too...it's so awful! My husband and baby murdered!" she began to sob but the man shook his head.
"No, by the Grace of God, your daughter is alive. Her injuries are pretty bad, but will heal. She's in the other room." Marguerite glared at him, her puffy eyes and wild hair intensifying the glower.
"Alive? Well...that's...wonderful."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Author's Note: Let's just remember: I WARNED YOU! But anyway, thanks to all whom reviewed! More to come!