"This must be what it feels like to die." The final choked whisper arose from a broken body lying at the foot of the barricade. The flame that had been roaring inside him this morning was now little more than a glowing ember amidst the ashes of revolution.

He was one of many, a young boy with a view that he could change the world. Before the shot had landed he was one of those boys with hopes and dreams. That was, however, before the gentle kiss of the summer's breeze had extinguished him.

He stained the cobbled streets with the colour of freedom as it leached out of him. His fallen rosette led in the ever-growing mess that surrounded him. Ironically, stained with blood, it now truly represented what they had stood for. What they had died for.

The previous evening

The sun had been absorbed by the darkness and under its gracious cover the boy slipped away. He had been forbidden to join his brothers in the ABC though he had no idea why. It mattered not; he was going whatever the cost.

There was great talk amongst the students about 'a terrible injustice' and 'a need to act.' He had no idea what this injustice was but his brothers were going and so was he.

He slipped through the rear doorway and found a spot near the back of the crowd. At the centre of the room was a man in red with some kind of badge pinned to his lapel. A rosette, it seemed. On further inspection every man in the room was wearing one. He had to get one; he wanted to belong for once.

As the youngest of four boys he had not stood out as a youngster but nor was he welcomed. His brothers never included him in any of their games and he had very few friends in school. For a time, there had been a curly haired boy by the name of R. R was older though and soon left. He did not know what had happened to R but apparently he had become somewhat of an alcoholic.

During his reminiscence someone had handed him a rosette. He fixed it to his lapel proudly. While he did this however he only heard small sections of the speech the animated man in red was giving.

"Barricade"

"Revolution"

"Brothers"

A large cheer arose from the crowd; whatever they had been spoken of must be good. He was going to take part. They seemed not to mind that he was there anyway, in fact no one even noticed him.

This was good, he felt like he belonged. This morning he had merely been a 16 year old boy and now he was part of brotherhood hell bent on changing… something. The details were no longer important now he was a part of them.

6:30 AM

It was only first light and yet there was already much being done. Furniture was being removed from being removed from nearby houses and placed in a large pile in the street. This must be the barricade the man in red had spoken of. He wanted to help so he began to haul tables and place them on the pile.

He had been working for an hour when a cry went up from near the café.

"Enough. We have more pressing issues than throwing furniture around. That's enough of a barricade to stay solid"

He absent-mindedly wandered towards the voice. On his way over someone pressed a revolver into his palm. It came with the instruction to point and pull the trigger. Why this was necessary he had no idea. Then he realised that others were carrying them too, so he made the conscientious decision to be like them and copy.

For a little while he copied and waved his gun around like he knew what he was doing with it. He had just begun to be convincing when a loud cry startled him

"THEY'RE COMING!"

Who were? He couldn't see anything from where he was standing so he clambered up the barricade to get a better look. He regretted his bout of curiosity as soon as he could see. There was a sea of blue uniforms approaching. The local constabulary had arrived but why had they come?

It took him a moment to realise his newfound brothers were aiming their few weapons at the constables. He did the same, scared out of his wits. He began to regret coming to the ABC last night, there was no way back though. He could not leave, his brothers needed him.

Brief words were exchanged between the enigmatic man in red and the constables. There was talk of a cease and desist. A loud laugh rose from the barricade. This was clearly funny, although he couldn't work out why. He still wasn't sure why they were here. The chief constable marched away and began barking orders about an attack.

Something changed within him. He felt a chill run down his spine. He was not cold but frightened. Frozen with fear was probably more accurate. He had not expected anything like this. He thought it was just a meeting, a chance to make some friends for once. He swallowed and steadied his hand; he could not allow himself to show fear.

His mind began to race. They were vastly outnumbered and outgunned. He now realised why he had been forbidden to come. Death was no longer probable, it was certain.

While his thoughts turned to the inevitable grave that awaited him, a shot rang out. The attack had begun. There was a large amount of shouting and cursing from the boys beside him. Shots were now being exchanged between the two sides. He had to do something, preferably something brave instead of screaming and crying like a little girl.

He stood and drew his weapon level. Could he really end the life of a fellow man? His newfound friends were doing it just fine, why couldn't he? He picked out a constable that was a little distance from the others and pointed his gun as he had been told. The one thing he hadn't counted on however was this particular constable noticing a weapon was being pointed his way. The constable turned and levelled his own weapon. There was a pause.

A grotesque spray of blood and grey matter spattered against the brickwork.

He breathed out. He had done it; he had indeed killed a man. He felt brave, he felt proud, he felt like…. he was going to vomit. He bent double and bid farewell to his breakfast.

What had he done? He had prematurely ended a life. Did this make him a monster? All possible answers pointed to yes. How were his friends not feeling this way? They were all still firing their weapons in the general direction of the constables.

He slumped to the floor in horror. When the shock wore off he noted that the fight had stopped. Was everyone else dead? No, there were only a few fatalities on either side. So, why had it stopped? Then, just when he was beginning to think that it was all over, the answer revealed itself.

"CANNONS!"

They were calling in the cannons. This meant trouble. In an attempt to stave off the unpleasant thoughts he went to see if anyone he knew had been killed. He saw no one he recognised, that was until some broken wood was shifted.

The image of what was left of his brother would never leave him for as long as he lived. There was very little to recognise his oldest brother by, other than the scar above his remaining eye. He did not know how his brother had come to be missing half of his head but he had no desire to know. It was enough that he was dead.

He stumbled back to the barricade numb and resumed his place. This time there was no noise. Only tangible fear hung in the air. All were afraid. Cannons meant zero chance of survival and everyone knew it. No one would be going home for tea.

Seeing his dear brother dead made him feel even more mortal, if that was possible He remembered that he would not be so lucky as to survive this time. Cannon balls were much bigger than bullets. Next time there was a shot he was dead.

He dropped his head and began to pray for some kind of mercy. Any way out, he would take it if it meant going home. He raised his head just in time to see the metal ball hurtling towards him.

"Oh Merd- "

There was nothing but darkness. He was little more than another fatality in a long line of many. In the end even their leader in red died. He at least had a name though, he had been Enjolras.

"This must be what it feels like to die"