Hello people! This is another result of not being able to sleep, as well as having Bastille's new album to my disposal. This is based on the song These Streets. Enjoy!
Grantaire hates his psychiatrist. He hates him becase he's not Joly and he's a monarchist and Grantaire has to walk down the Rue de la Chanverie to get to him.
Grantaire hates the voices inside his head. The voices that haven't left him since that day. The voices tell him that he is useless, that he was an unacceptable Pylades, and he deserved the hell he fell into the moment he woke up to find his Orestes, his Enjolras, dead beside him.
Grantaire hates the alcohol he surrenders to, the alcohol that took his everything and left him with the memories that he has tried so many times to run from. He has been defeated every time.
Grantaire hates the ghosts, the ghosts of his fallen friends. They tell him in excruciating detail how they died, how he could have stopped it from happening.
Grantaire hates everyone on the streets. Every person he passes is Joly, Bossuet, Gavroche, Enjolras. He turns, tears of joy in his eyes as he awakes from the nightmare, reunited with his brothers. He falls further. He will never be woken from this nightmare.
Grantaire hates the cafe Musain. He hates the smell of death, the smell of his friends in the back room. Louisson will let no one in except Grantaire, not that he would ever ask.
Grantaire hates the blood stains on the wall of the Musain. They accuse him constantly, they remind him of Enjolras, whispering his insults. Keep out of our affairs. Stick to your absinthe. Grantaire breaks down. You're incapable of believing or thinking or willing or living or dying. Grantaire collapses into himself. He has made so many mistakes. "You'll see," he had said to Enjolras. "You'll see." Grantaire never proved Enjolras wrong. He just presented himself. Useless, drunk, flawed.
Grantaire hates the shadows that haunt him. The shadow of a man with a fan, a man in glasses, a man with a cane used simply to scrath his nose, a man whose shadow even radiated immortality.
Grantaire cannot show his face. He is the survivor, the only one worthy of dying, the only one condemned to life.
Grantaire hates himself. There's nothing he can do about that. There are only eight people who could. It's too late for that.