Please be aware that this story contains graphic images and suicidal thoughts. I will not use unwarranted graphic images, but I will try to keep this as realistic as possible.
The barricades fell. Every single barricade was overrun with soldiers, and every single man on the wrong side was executed without question, without pause, without time to do anything except acknowledge their imminent death – and sometimes not even enough time for that. Now all that was left was a pile of broken furniture in a deserted street. The windows of the buildings around were closed and the air was filled with the silent echo of gunfire and the cries of dying men. The only person witness to the aftermath was a girl covered in the grime of Parisian streets.
Éponine Thénardier looked in horrified shock at the battered Café Musain, the same café in which Les Amis de l'ABC met to dream and plan of their rebellion. The memories of nights spent at Marius' side listening to the meetings and hearing the laughter and arguments of young men discovering the world and trying to make it their own rushed through her mind. Those vestiges of happiness and excitement were soon becoming overshadowed by what she had endured that night when she had huddled against an old crate bloated from rain. She had sobbed to the death that rang through every street of Paris, from every barricade, from every direction. The horrors that assaulted her felt ingrained into her skin, as much a part of her now as the dirt that had cumulated over the years. She had waited in the alley like a scared child until the ringing gunshots finally stopped and the soldiers had gone, taking the fallen with them. Her bare feet crept over the harsh rocks and pebbles that littered the street, and slowly carried her towards what remained. Her gaze moved from the bruised Café sign and were now fixed solidly on the barricade, and all she could hear was gunfire, all she could smell was the smoke, and all she could see were the men who were so brave and so alive when she had left them in the dark. The pile of rubble had looked so impressive in the heady rush of its construction, it truly seemed as though it could withstand the might of Paris' trained soldiers. Now, in the bleak light of dawn it looked no larger than a mound of fresh snow, pathetic, weak, and all too willing to soak up spilt blood.
The girl turned her eyes to the street before her, at the stagnant, congealing puddles of dark red that seemed to be everywhere. Her lungs were constricted against the still air and although she knew that the blood belonged to those who defended the barricade her entire body rejected the very idea. How could such beautiful and vibrant beings produce such ugly, shadowy murk? She continued to walk forward, her feet steady even as her hands shook as though she stood in a winter storm and clutched at her tattered skirt.
The often-felt desire to turn back time surged through her emaciated body. She had experienced the feeling often of late. It had occurred upon seeing Cosette in all her finery and remembering the shaming cruelty of her childhood. Then again when she had seen Marius' face as he had gazed after the glinting gold ringlets and feeling the harsh sting of unsaid words and suppressed longing. Perhaps if she had said something before – but no, those thoughts were poison, especially now, especially in the silence. After all, regret for wasted love did not belong in this place for he was one of the beautiful and vibrant and fallen of the barricade. As she looked upon the stained wood of broken furniture she longed for her blood to mix with that of Marius upon the ground, she longed to return to the previous day and stay with him behind the broken furniture and red flag. She could feel the strings of her mind unfurling, her body becoming undone by the understanding that now, once again, she was alone.
She was alone as she had always been but somehow now even more than before. The happiness of Marius had flashed before her eyes like a lightning bolt, and she could still see his silhouette burned against the back of her eyelids. The taste of love was still bitter upon her tongue and the gleam of her younger brother's eyes echoed through her mind. She was destined now to wander the familiar streets of Paris, lost and alone. If only she had stayed behind, if only she had not let the terror of death and bullets prevent her from returning, if only she had grabbed Gavroche's hand and pulled her brother to safety along with her.
As her feet made the long journey down the street, and towards the Café Musain, terrifying clarity rushed through her. This was where it ended. She now knew what was going to happen to her, what she would ensure. She would remain for a while, before joining Marius and Gavroche. It would be painful and longer than a knife to her wrist or a gun to her head, but starvation would be her way. Her ribs were already so pressed against her paper-thin skin that it would not be long.
She was so close now. If she reached out she would be able to touch the ragged wood. Transfixed by what lay before, she paid no heed to what was underneath. She was jerked from her musings when her foot touched something wet. She stopped with a jolt and stared down at the red now staining her dirty toes. A scream bubbled up from her throat and she lurched away. Stumbling she fell to her knees on dry, dirty stone, and heaved stinging bile onto the street before the pile of rubble where she should have died.
This will be a multi-chapter story and this will have eventual Enjolras/Eponine even though it obviously does not look like it now. Thank you so much for reading! If you want to leave a review please do so!