Blue Diamonds
By: PoeticChick
She is gone. She
is gone. I keep repeating those three words to myself, but it still doesn’t
seem possible. It can’t be true; my little sparrow cannot truly be gone
forever. But she is. I attended her funeral, saw her casket lowered into the
wet earth, saw the energy and life force of the Moulin
Rouge sink down into the ground with her.
The Moulin Rouge is also dying. We press on, keep
the music loud and the singing louder, but even my diamond dogs cannot drown
out the looming silence that was born when Satine took her last breath. It is
like an echo of its former self, a wavering reflection in the water. Of course,
I don’t let on that I’m sad and worried. I continue to comb my mustache into a
smile and pinch my girls’ cheeks and pretend that everything is all right, that
everything will be all right. Honestly, I cannot say right now if that is true.
Christian. Words cannot begin to describe the
anguish that Christian is feeling, and my heart goes out to him, for he is
suffering the most out of all of us. He knew her such a short time, but he knew
her fully and completely in a way that even I did not. Marie and I, essentially
Satine’s mother and father in the underworld, are suffering too. Marie does not
easily share her feelings and is keeping most of her grief to herself, but after
knowing her for as long as I have, I can tell that she misses Satine dearly.
Who doesn’t? Who couldn’t miss that beautiful, vibrant, wonderful woman?
I witnessed something yesterday that broke my heart
even more so than it has already been broken. Marie just finished a new costume
for Satine that she’d been working on in secret for months. She was so excited
about surprising Satine with the costume. It’s a beautiful costume but hard to
look at, for I know Satine would have loved it and will never have the chance
to wear it. It’s a satin teddy lined in faux fur with matching hose and a
sheer, sparkling train. And the color of this costume, you ask? Blue, blue,
blue, all blue.
I have in my apartment a necklace that I was going
to bestow on my little gosling to wear with her new costume. It’s diamond, of
course, the rarest kind of diamond: blue. I have not been able to look at this
necklace since Satine’s death because of what each dangling, sparkling diamond
looks like to me: tears. The blue diamonds look just like the tears that have
been rolling down the faces of every single person at the Moulin Rouge since
Satine’s death.