Cold and Broken
Grantaire struggled to open his eyes as a heavy boot kicked his side.
"Get up you drunkard," a voice boomed, sending shocks of pain through his head.
"What's going on?" Grantaire asked, struggling to sit up. His head hurt and he was slightly dizzy; the usual occurrence after a particularly bad binge.
Another man joined the one who had spoken earlier, and Grantaire could tell through barely open eyes that they were in uniform.
"Don't worry," the first man said to the second. "Just another drunkard passed out in the alley. He was probably too incapacitated to participate in the failed rebellion."
The two uniformed men left Grantaire alone to try and piece together his words.
Failed rebellion? Grantaire thought as he sat up against the stone wall. He painfully looked around his surroundings and saw that it was deserted.
He rubbed his eyes and cradled his head in his hands as he tried to remember what had happened. He remembered that Enjolras had led the beginning of the rebellion at LeMarque's funeral. He remembered helping build the barricade. He remembered the spy, Javert. He remembered the gamine's death. He remembered sharing drinks with his friends, for they all knew it would most likely be the last time they would be able to do so in this lifetime.
Then nothing.
Absolutely nothing. No matter how hard he tried to remember, his mind was blank.
Fighting the nausea, he got up and slowly made his way down the alley, desperate for information.
The sunlight nearly blinded him, and he had to lift his arm to shield his eyes. When he was finally able to see somewhat clearly, he saw the barricade had been taken down, but the blood was still everywhere in the streets. His heart plummeted.
He stumbled towards the women who were cleaning the streets.
"Mademoiselles," he said, his voice hoarse. "Could you tell me… tell me what happened here?"
"M'sieur, haven't you heard? Some schoolboys staged a rebellion, building a barricade right here where we stand," one woman told him.
"The poor chaps didn't stand a chance," another added. "The French Army was too strong. They were all killed."
"All… killed?" Grantaire croaked.
"They were so young," another commented sadly. "Probably never even held a gun."
Grantaire couldn't listen to the chatter any longer and he rushed back to the alleyway to empty his stomach. His eyes filled with tears. Whether they were from grief or from the odor of the bile, he wasn't sure.
When he felt he could do no more, Grantaire collapsed on the ground, empty. Empty of alcohol, empty of friendship, empty of everything.
He had drunk himself into such a stupor that he missed the entire rebellion. And now all his friends were dead.
He was alone.
This a new story that's been brewing in my head! Grantaire is my favorite character to write about, but I'm hoping to take his character in a different direction than my other stories. Please review and let me know what you think! xx