It should have been me. That's all I can think as I carry this child's body from the barricade. For God's sake, he's a child.
I don't think I've ever hated God as much as I do right now. I want to curse God, I want to hurt Him for letting this child die. I want to hurt these students, I want to hurt the Guard, I want to hurt society, I want to hurt myself. Most of all I want to hurt God. Because we are all responsible for letting this child die.
I feel as I did when I first left Toulon, in a blind anger, wanting to hurt someone, anyone. Apparently that sentiment is still there. Only this time it is not because of me, but because of this boy. I know him. He is the reason I am at the barricade. I met him yesterday and he gave me Marius' letter. And now he is dead, and I must stay because of Marius. I have been blessed with fortune and a beautiful daughter; the boy was cursed with poverty and indigence. He might have experienced the salvation I received, but now it is too late. That is why I hate God.
What did the boy do to deserve this death? He was not trying to hurt anyone. He was merely trying to help his friends, to keep them alive a little while longer. And some Guardsman just shot him down, without feeling. Why did God create a man who could do such a thing? Why did God create this brave, free spirit, only to have him cruelly shot in the street in cold blood?
You are with God now, little one, I think, looking down at the child's sweet, bloodied face and open eyes. A wicked, spiteful, vengeful, sadistic God.
I lay him down in the farthest corner of the café. There are many more bodies still to come. I kneel down and begin to weep.
There is no time to grieve for him now, but I will later. Because I am the closest thing to a papa that he has ever had. Or ever will have. Yes, this boy is like the son I might have known.