Dawn on the Barricades
Note that I do not have any ownership over any of the characters in this story, and that I am nowhere near the quality of Victor Hugo
"It seemed like a shadow of the distant past," said Enjorales to himself as he loaded another packet of shot into his musket. He looked around the barricade, with the illusion that all was peaceful. He then looked upon his friends and how they lay dead around him. He sadly shook his head, remembering the past night.
"Marius you late again. You look as if you've seen a ghost. Some wine and say what's going on" exclaimed Enjorales inside the café. Marius course blushed and said his words in an eloquent manner. It was then that Grantine took the conversation over by teasing Marius.
He then looked at the remains of what looked like Grantine, a mere shred of clothing lying in a pool of blood. Enjorales shivered, the cannons had gotten Grantine, and blew him to shreds. Indeed the sight was awful, when you have blood shooting from a good friend. Alas, Enjorales wished Grantine would fare well in the place where people like him go when they die. And then Enjorales thought of the drummer boy. He had fallen so bravely in Enjorales mind. He had fought off the French soldiers until alas he was bayoneted repeatedly He remembered the last words of this young boy, "I would rather be with you than anyone else". Enjorales looked at the pool of red that the boy's body was floating on and sighed.
Alas he took his musket and slid off the bayonet that he had used to kill many French soldiers. He then took a deep breath and sent the point of the bayonet into his throat.
It would be a while until the French soldiers recovered the body of Enjorales, lying behind a crate with a bayonet stuck in his throat. And with that ended the first of one but many battles.
Note that I do not have any ownership over any of the characters in this story, and that I am nowhere near the quality of Victor Hugo
"It seemed like a shadow of the distant past," said Enjorales to himself as he loaded another packet of shot into his musket. He looked around the barricade, with the illusion that all was peaceful. He then looked upon his friends and how they lay dead around him. He sadly shook his head, remembering the past night.
"Marius you late again. You look as if you've seen a ghost. Some wine and say what's going on" exclaimed Enjorales inside the café. Marius course blushed and said his words in an eloquent manner. It was then that Grantine took the conversation over by teasing Marius.
He then looked at the remains of what looked like Grantine, a mere shred of clothing lying in a pool of blood. Enjorales shivered, the cannons had gotten Grantine, and blew him to shreds. Indeed the sight was awful, when you have blood shooting from a good friend. Alas, Enjorales wished Grantine would fare well in the place where people like him go when they die. And then Enjorales thought of the drummer boy. He had fallen so bravely in Enjorales mind. He had fought off the French soldiers until alas he was bayoneted repeatedly He remembered the last words of this young boy, "I would rather be with you than anyone else". Enjorales looked at the pool of red that the boy's body was floating on and sighed.
Alas he took his musket and slid off the bayonet that he had used to kill many French soldiers. He then took a deep breath and sent the point of the bayonet into his throat.
It would be a while until the French soldiers recovered the body of Enjorales, lying behind a crate with a bayonet stuck in his throat. And with that ended the first of one but many battles.
