Thanks to Blue-Inked Frost for spotting some issues with this story!
Note: Cosette does not have the ability to see the future; I am simply giving a glimpse of the characters' childhoods along with a foreshadowing of their fates.
Much love,
Unicadia
June 6, 1817
At five o'clock we'll all be dead.
"Do you want to go to the park today, Cosette?"
"Mm, yes!"
Fantine placed a blue bonnet on Cosette's yellow head and tied the bonnet's ribbons under her chin. "There you go, my little angel." She smiled and twisted one of the downy curls around her finger. "You're going to grow up to be a beautiful young lady someday. I will have a job keeping dashing suitors away from you." Cosette giggled and reached out to touch her mother's face. Fantine laughed, kissed her cheek, then tightened the leather buckles on Cosette's shoes. She stood and took the little girl's tiny white hand. "Ready, Cosette?"
They walked down the cobblestone street to the great Luxembourg Gardens, trees hanging over the iron fences. Sunlight dappled through the leaves and onto the never-ending fountains, crystals falling from them. Cosette pulled from her mother's grasp and ran to the giant fountain in the middle of the garden. She leaned over the low stone wall, feeling the spray on her face. She held out her hand to the water, when another hand joined hers.
Turning, she saw a boy about her age, dressed in dirty clothes. He gazed at her with solemn dark eyes, and she stared back, until a tall boy with red hair came up behind him and took his grubby hand.
"Hello, little girl," he said, smiling. Cosette blinked up at him. He also wore thin rags, and a funny hat slouched on his head. "Where's your mother?"
Paint stains, worn books, piles of sketches. Pallid, freckled cheeks and tired eyes. Quick to anger, never unjustly. A sketchbook of drawings, careful records of an aching heart. Shaking hands carving immortal words into a wall: Vivent les Peuples!
Cosette looked around, then pointed down the path where Fantine stood, watching them. "Maman."
"Go to your mother, child. You need her."
The little boy looked up at his companion. "Maman?"
A charming smile, and tangled, curly black hair. Bony fingers over a broken violin. "You are handsome, m'sieur." Beauty corrupted. A waif who hated him, and he almost loved. A lonely, wandering soul.
"Come, Mathys," said the red-haired boy. They walked away. Cosette began following them, but Fantine came over and caught her hand.
They wandered over to some benches where a couple of other women watched their children play. Cosette joined two little girls in the flowerbeds where they made fairy houses. Nearby, five boys played a raucous game of war.
"I've captured you, Jean!" exclaimed one, brandishing his stick sword and striking a dashing pose. "Stand over there by that tree!" He maneuvered his captive, a small boy with strawberry-blond hair, over to a large oak. Then, addressing the girls in the flowerbed, he said, "Watch, young maids, as André the Noble deals with those who oppose him!"
Cosette and the other two girls gazed up at André in awe as he swept them an extravagant bow.
Chestnut curls, a confident swagger, and resounding laughter. A girl always hanging on his arm, her parasol crooked in his arm. Elaborate bows and flourishes. A knack for settling arguments in a few, light words. A candle blown out.
"You can't capture him, André!" retorted another boy, with soft blue eyes. "Then it will be two against one!"
"But that's the point, Etienne," said André's teammate, a boy with golden curls. "It's war."
Etienne looked at the last boy, who lounged on the grass with a bored expression on his face. "Mathieu, will you join my team?"
Mathieu sat up half-way and rubbed his forehead. "I don't see the point."
The golden-haired boy waved him away. "Mathieu's hopeless."
Thick black hair falling into dark eyes. Loud, abrasive, bizarre. Intricate, complex ramblings about nothing, nothing at all. A watchful gaze, a taut muscle, clenched fists. Heavy, staggering, bewildering steps. "Do you permit it?"
Mathieu puckered his lips, pressed his cheeks together, and blinked rapidly. "At least I don't look like a girl, Louis!"
Louis stuck his tongue out at Mathieu. "Leave him, Etienne."
Mathieu raised an imaginary rifle and aimed it at Louis. Louis glared at him and spread his arms wide. "Shoot me," he taunted.
Damp hair the color of the sun, and weary, defiant blue eyes. A face too young to meet death. "It is as though I'm about to shoot a flower." A ringing voice, which used to carry hope to the people, and trembling words: "Shoot me."
He turned back to André. "Now, let us dispose of our enemy!" They both leveled invisible carbines at their captive, Jean.
"Do I have to die?" Jean pouted, digging at the soft earth with his shoe. "I didn't really want to play this, anyway. I wanted to make fairy houses." He pointed to the girls in the flowerbed.
"You're such a baby, Jean!" groaned Louis.
But, an evil grin, from André. "Yes, you have to die!" In a deeper voice, he said, "Take aim, fire!"
The boys made exploding noises as they shot their rifles. Looking up, however, they saw Jean still stood erect by the tree. Louis groaned. "You're dead, Jean. Fall down."
A melancholy smile, ink spattered everywhere. Poetry, and a voice like the sea. Wild clothing, wild eyes. Daydreamer, lover, writer. Bleeding, broken, blindfolded, tripping on the cobblestones. "Vive la France! Long live the future!"
Jean let loose with a little sighing sound and wilted slowly into the grass like a dying flower. André and Louis jumped up and whooped. Behind them, Etienne crossed his arms. "It's not fair! Louis!"
André and Louis turned on Etienne with their rifles. Louis leaped onto Etienne, knocking him to the ground. He grabbed a stick and poked Etienne's chest with it three times. He grinned. "You're dead."
Solemn blue eyes, an unspoken dare, a rare smile. Quiet words, gentle hands, soft laughter. Books, sketches, order to everything. A page of hieroglyphics, a scribbled-in dictionary. A girl who loved him, and gave him a child he never knew. Three bayonets. Eyes drawn to heaven, a whispered promise: "To be free."
Etienne shoved Louis off him. Mathieu giggled. Louis leaped at Etienne again, but this time, Etienne ran. André dropped his stick and ran after them, yelling, "Now let's play 'Beheading King Louis XVI!' You can be the king, Louis!"
Cosette watched them go, then returned to her fairy houses. "This is for the queen of the fairies," she told her companions, adding a dandelion to her creation.
"What about the king?" said the girl with the dark brown tresses, making a mound from the dirt. "I'm going to marry a king someday."
Cosette liked the sound of that. "Me too!"
"We'll be queens, and we'll live in castles!" added the other girl, who had blond hair and funny little pinpricks in her cheeks when she smiled.
The dark-haired girl stood and twirled, almost tumbling into a rose bush. The other two girls jumped up and joined her. They clasped hands and ran around in a circle, their skirts – blue, pink, red – spinning like pinwheels, until they all fell down from dizziness. The dark-haired girl put her hand down on a sharp rock as she collapsed. "Ow!" She pulled her hand away, rubbing the place where the rock pierced her. Tears welled in her eyes, but Cosette knelt beside her and stroked her hair. "It's okay, it's okay." She knew what it was like to get hurt. But mother was always there to comfort her.
A waif, a ghost, with a longing smile and watery eyes. A child, alone, beaten, and lost. Cramped hands scratching out a trace of hope. Cold hands extended, left empty. A bloody hand cradling a bullet. "I believe I was . . . a little in love with you."
The blond girl kneeled next to them. "Are you okay?"
The dark-haired girl nodded, wiping her eyes. The blond girl grinned, and Cosette watched as the pinpricks appeared in her cheeks. She reached over and touched the girl's cheek where the pinprick disappeared as she stopped smiling. "What's that?"
The girl batted her hand away. "Stop!"
A charming girl who loved to read. A dancer with tiny feet and butterfly kisses. A dreamer whose dreams died along with a pale, awkward medical student. A figure at night in a heavy black dress and a thick, netted veil.
Cosette unhappily returned to her fairy houses, but she soon felt restless and lonely. She scrambled out of the flowerbed, leaving the two girls, and located her mother.
"Maman!"
Fantine held out a metal hoop and a wooden stick to her as she ran up. "Look, Cosette. I brought your hoop." Cosette brightened and took the toy. Fantine gently pushed her toward a couple of other children rolling hoops. "Go on, Cosette."
Cosette set the hoop on the ground and knocked it with her stick. It tipped and clattered onto the cobblestones. Fantine laughed, set it upright, and gave it a little tap. It rolled away toward the fountain. Cosette chased after it, keeping it going with her stick.
"Fernand, look out!"
Cosette did not notice the older boy until he collided with her hoop. She didn't slow down in time, and fell over him, dropping her stick. Another boy ran up to them, breathing hard. "Fernand?" He smiled when he saw Cosette, a smile which made her smile back and giggle and not mind the accident or her stinging hands at all. "Are you all right, little one?"
A smile to forget, a laugh to remember. Enormous eyes which made even his serious expressions comic. Tender words, a sensitive heart, love for all. Dancing in the street, his cane raised to his nose. Strange views on magnetism and thunder storms. He broke a girl's heart when he went away forever.
"I'm good," gasped Fernand.
The other boy picked Cosette up and set her carefully on the ground. He examined her head, hands, and legs before letting her go. "You're tough," he laughed, as he tore his handkerchief in half and wrapped her hands in it.
"Hyacinthe-Félicien!" shouted a red-faced woman, striding up to them. She grasped the boy's arms, forcing him to turn toward her. "What have I told you about running? You'll get another asthma attack!"
"Maman, I'm okay."
Cosette gazed up at the woman. "Maman?" She pointed to the boy.
"Yes, that's my maman."
Fernand joined them. "I'm watching Félicien, madame. Don't worry."
Félicien glared at Fernand, who rumpled his hair in response.
Easy, laughing words, and a careless stride. Always tripping, always clumsy, always cheerful. Sarcasm and rolled eyes, crumpled papers and misplaced pens, never surprised. Death, his last misfortune, did not let him go before his best friend.
Fernand collected Cosette's hoop and stick and handed them to her. She attempted to start rolling the hoop herself again, but failed. Fernand helped her, and she ran off after the hoop. It didn't remain upright for long, though, and knocked against the leg of a big, frightening-looking teen boy, where it fell. Cosette hung back, too scared to retrieve her hoop. She watched as the boy stooped down and picked it up. He looked around, and then his dark eyes stopped on Cosette. She trembled and crouched down, clutching her knees.
He strode up to her, holding the hoop out to her. "Don't be scared," he laughed, the sound loud and rolling, like thunder.
Bloody knuckles and blood-colored waistcoats, matching his opinions. A huge, swinging stride. Loud, rash statements. Wild eyes, a ferocious grin, savage words, and a laughing girl who loved him for his tender kisses. A flash of firelight, a bayonet, and it ended.
She didn't move, so he laid the hoop on the ground in front of her and walked away, still laughing.
After a moment, Cosette reached out and took her hoop. She stood and ran back to her mother. Fantine caught Cosette in her arms, and Cosette buried her face in her shoulder. After a moment, Fantine set her down again "I want to go," Cosette said, giving the hoop and stick to her. Fantine chuckled and took her hand. They started walking toward the park gates, and passed by an old gentleman and a boy a little older than Cosette. They looked at each other, and then the boy's face went red. Cosette giggled and hopped up and down. The boy hid his face in the old gentleman's coat, but watched Cosette from the corner of his eye.
"Come on, Cosette," said Fantine, laughing, and they left the park.
A shy smile, ruffled hair. Stumbled words, a proud and noble heart. Great aspirations, greater dreams. Studious to a fault. Handsome without knowledge, compassion without eyes. Confused and melancholy, but full of love.
"No one ever told them that a summer's day can kill . . ."
This story is based off of a picture I drew (see the cover picture) of most of the barricade boys, Cosette, Fantine, Musichetta, and Mireille (Courfeyrac's girlfriend) as children all together in the Luxembourg Park, and as depicted in the anime Shoujo Cosette (as Musichetta is not in the anime, I drew her as one of the little girls Cosette sees in a flashback).
The quote at the beginning is the title a letter by Charles Jeanne, the leader of the barricades at Saint-Merry, was published under. It details the events of June 5-6 1832.
In case you didn't figure who everyone was, here they are in order of appearance, along with their ages in this story (Cosette is 2 years old). I tried to make the descriptions clearer, but please let me know if you still have troubles - I don't want this story to be confusing!
Feuilly - 13, Montparnasse - 3, Courfeyrac - 10, Grantaire - 14, Enjolras - 11, Prouvaire - 8, Combeferre - 11, Éponine - 2, Musichetta - 3, Joly - 12, Laigle - 14, Bahorel - 16, Marius - 7.
Thank you for reading!
Much love,
Unicadia