I wrote this fic back in High School and came back to it 15 years later to spruce it up a bit. Hope you enjoy!
They say there's a bright light at the end of the tunnel that appears when you're about to pass from this world. They also say to stay away from that light, to fight the pull of the beyond, and to try and find your way back to earth.
It started, like many of the tragic stories in my life had started lately, with a cough. And fatigue. And one night, feverish, shivering and on the brink between sleep and delirium, I saw a light. It was warm, comforting, and coming my way. I closed my eyes, and I did not fight its pull.
I reached one arm to pull my only thin bed blanket closer to my frame, only to grab a fistful of a something rough instead. I opened my eyes and looked down to find I was fully suited — a sharp, brown tweed number — and not laying in my bed at all. I was laying upon an iron bench. I pushed myself up to an upright position and looked left and right, rubbing my eyes.
What I saw it took irony to the next level. I was in a train terminal. A few other, similarly confused-looking people dotted the other benches that lined the length of the terminal. Each bench had a single Edison bulb hanging on a wire fixture above it. No signage indicated our location, but the light was still coming. We somehow all had the same sense to sit quietly and wait.
My hands turned clammy and trembled with excitement. Could this be it? The place where one life ends and the other begins?
Every vein in my body pumped violently with my love for my lost love, for my darling.
--
"But you won't fool the Children of the Revolution, no you won't fool the Children of the Revolution, no, no…"
We had won. Spectacular Spectacular had finished, and I held Satine as we chorused on stage; the crescendo signaling thepotential of our new life together. At last I had experienced love, and I would live with the woman I loved for the rest of my life. And then the curtain closed.
As if by an unseen force, Satine coughed and gasped — and she fell. The curtains opened for the bow and the audience cheered. They thought she was acting, but my Satine was…
"Christian, I'm dying."
I held her fragile frame in my shaking arms, unable to process that I was holding the woman who, for the first time, made me feel love ten times any infatuation anyone has ever had. She was dying of consumption, while my feelings for her consumed me whole.
"Tell them our story, Christian. Promise me."
As her last breath left her, Satine's fragile hand hit the stage floor like ice on a new terra cotta floor. Hard. The audience clapped.
They needed to hear our story.
--
The light was getting closer. I could see now that its source was a small, round bulb glowing mightily at the head of a beautiful, gigantic train. Each wavelength it gave off hit me and charged me with new energy.
The train pulled slowly out of the curvy tunnel and stuttered down the remainder of its path to a complete, supernatural halt. Some doors opened, and suddenly, a whirlwind of spirits and mortals alike spun toward the other souls sitting on their benches. Some were people crying, some laughing, some more who were crying.
The train remained still. It came with such presence and elegance I was glued to where I stood: in front of one of the doors and in everyone's way.
Should I get on? How do I know? Where will I go?
I hoped to God — or whatever Conductor was in control here — that he would lead me in the right direction.
I walked, looking for her, and found myself in front of a car whose doors had not opened yet. From within the car, I heard a harsh, smug laugh. It was so familiar, and yet I didn't want to associate the voice with the sound. I had hoped I would never see her again.
The metal hinge whistled as the veneered wood opened thefirst door. A scantly clad, fishnet stocking-covered calf made its vulgar presence known in this magical place in which I waited. When it took greedy hold of the stone paved floor, the rest of the body appeared. Nini.
Nini's glazed eyes met mine. They laughed at me. "Well lover boy, 'ere to git your precious Satine?" She laughed. I snapped, and snarled. "Don't you EVER"
--
"Come what may
Come what may
I will love you until my dying day!"
Again, Satine and I had shown our love for each other right under the Duke's nose. I had written a song into the play that allowed us to sing that we loved each other, and that come what may, we would always be together. So whenever we practiced, wrote and refined Spectacular Spectacular, we could conduct a sort of secret love pact that just grew stronger every day we laid eyes on each other. Nini, though,was jealous. She'd lived no easy life, and she grew fiercely jealous of all the attention Satine received as the Moulin's "Sparkling Diamond."
"I don't get this ending," Nini had whined to the Duke. "Why does the courtesan choose the penniless writer? Whoops-I mean sitar player!"
She had exposed us. She had shown to the clueless Duke how the play was but a version onstage of Satine and my relationship. The Duke was the evil Maharaja, there to steal Satine, the courtesan, from the penniless sitar player who was I, the penniless writer. She ruined everything.
"Why does my heart cry?
Feelings I can't fight
You're free to leave me
But just don't deceive me
And please, believe me when I say Ilove you."
I didn't understand it. I said it wouldn't drive me mad. I promised I wouldn't be jealous. But Satine has to do something for me, for the sake of all who are involved with the Moulin Rouge.
The Duke had started to become jealous himself. He wanted Satine to be all his. She was to sleep with him in order to save the Moulin Rouge, to keep all of us fed and alive.
We waited in the hall for something; none of us knew what. I was thrown out of the hall and receded into my small apartment. A little later, Satine ran into my room, escorted by Chocolat. Tears ran down her pretty face, and she ran into my arms. "I couldn't! I couldn't!"
--
Nini disappeared. I don't know where she went. I heard a wail, and she was gone. The crowds around me whispered about what's not supposed to be whispered about. Nini had boarded a train, sure, but her train's destination was not this terminal. But you couldn't blame her for trying to get off here.
As sick as it is, the ends of my mouth curled into a devious smile when I interpreted the hushed words. But I did not dwell on them for long.
On the other side of the terminal, an even more majestic train was beginning to make its appearance. This one was of white birch wood, decorated lavishly with golden flowers. It was moving more rapidly than the first, and stopped even faster than it moved. The doors flew open before anyone could grasp what happened, and the crowds poured out of the door to welcome even more souls that had popped up on waiting benches.
Everyone else's happy tears drowned me dead. They had all been reunited, but I had no one in life, no one but her. And she was nowhere to be found.
That train pulled away, and the crowds began to disperse. The lights above each bench dimmed, all except one. I walked slowly to it and sunk to seating.
The crowds slowly made their way down a flight of steps to horse-drawn carriages. There were tons of them, all beautiful. My face fell to my hands in agony, and I let my knees hit the floor.
"Why?"
I cried bitter tears for my darling, my love. My first and only love was…gone?
But the train came back. It just…came back. I lifted my eyes, and there it was, waiting for me with a blank stare. It beckoned me closer, as if it wanted a pat on the head for doing well. I walked, step by step, one in front of the other, toward the door.
As I came to the point where my face was an inch away, the door opened, and there I feasted my eyes upon Satine.
"Christian. My love, I've been waiting for you."
How can I describe what I felt? Despite being a writer, I cannot. I was speechless. Her blue oceans for eyes looked into mine, and I reached out to touch her face as tears of joy flooded out of my eyes. She leaned into my hand with a smile, and I pulled her into an embrace, kissing into her hair, "I love you, I love you, I love you." She would never leave my arms again.
No fairy tale has a perfect happy ending, at least none that I have written. But in this fairy tale, the courtesan picks the penniless sitar player — in life, and in the beyond.