A/N This is pretty angsty. Really, this is generally something I would never even read, so I'm not sure why I wrote it, I don't find it to be particularly original. But if you like angst, or you like our favorite little shovel-wielding Frenchie, then maybe you'll get something out of this. Oh, I wrote all of the "the"s as "ze"s (I'm sure I missed some) because even though this isn't being spoken aloud or anything, I felt like it needed at least a tiny little injection of his frenchy accent.
It is times like this when I am grateful for ze moon.
By times, I mean when being alone and overlooked and forgotten about are just too much to mold into an airtight, loner disguise. I do not mean to sound like a whiny, emo pussy, like some people I could mention. But there are those moments, between ma mère and her incisive god-rants, all about his grace and his benevolence, and ze people who like to whisper about ze 'queer brit kid,' when you realize why people do not remain alone, why everyone is always teaming up. It is you versus the world and ze big bitch who created it, and it is always best to have some one watching your back.
I am not saying I want love, do not classify me as ze silly Disney-channel-robot teenage child who wants to fall in love and sing about it all the time. Non, that is not me. But in those moments when I feel the Mole fall away and I am only Christophe, I realize…I do not feel completely satisfied. These dark empty rooms at night, when everyone is asleep – that is when I know it. When I returned from ze dead, I never expected a welcome party, but to come home to ma mere, and see her put away ze champagne at ze sight of me in the doorway, it is a little too much.
Even Gregory, who is perhaps ze closest thing I have to a 'friend,' or at least someone who will talk to me without forcing soap down my mouth, or regarding me as a complete monstre, only said 'Oh, you were dead? Well, I have a lot of jobs for you so you best be gone within the next five minutes or these will never be done on time' when I returned. Ze only reminders I have of ze closest I have ever come to another living being are ze bite marks up and down my arms.
I am tired, tired of ze looks and questions of 'I am sorry, could you repeat that.' They all think I talk funny – well, I think they are the ones who talk funny. I think I convinced myself that I liked being alone in my tunnels and dirt because the world was filled only with idiots whom I do not need—it is for people like them I keep my shovel handy.
I am homesick, for ze country I have left behind, maybe forever. I do not know, I am hardly in the 'teen years,' what do I know of forever, right?
I know people are alone, forever. I know that there are so many people out there, you can think of a type of person and I am sure that they exist. So I know there is at least one person out there, who is forever alone.
I am worried that person is me, I think.
Ze moon is alone. I see no other moons when I look in ze sky – but it is good in its loneliness, it stands out from ze million smaller stars which all look ze same.
I know I am not ze only one who thinks this. There are so many poems and stories and songs all about ze moon – there is a universal fascination with it. There are people who stay up late to watch it or are waiting for sleep and see it or lie on the grass with their friends or lovers or strangers and they stare at the night and ze moon.
When I am looking at ze moon, I am not alone.