AN: I'm sorry about this, it was an idea that came to me while studying, and I just had to write it down. It's kind of sad, or at least meant to be sad. And it's probably very OOC too. Oh, and it's my first Les Mis fic, so don't expect it to be great.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Les Miserables.
Cracked Marble
The world was spinning. He couldn't see, couldn't feel, couldn't move. Still Enjolras stumbled forward trough a snow-covered Paris; just a few streets more, and then he would reach the Café Musain. Reach his friends.
His impeccable white shirt was coloured dark red with blood, his own blood, and Enjolras knew he was badly hurt. The bullet lodging in his chest was proof enough of that. But still, the snow looked so soft and inviting. Maybe he should lie down and rest there, just a moment. No, he knew that if he did, he'd never get up again.
He'd been handing out pamphlets about liberty and the rights of the poor when a group of National Guards came upon him. Those who'd gathered around him started to disappear, and only one of the Guards fired his gun. Unfortunately, that one bullet hit Enjolras straight in the chest. The pain was almost unbearable, he could hardly breathe. Yet he stayed until he'd seen that the people were safe, then he' despite the ever increasing pain, started to make his way back to the Musain and his friends.
Enjolras came to a small alley, and there he had to stop. It felt as if his shaking legs couldn't hold up the weight of his body anymore. His vision started to blur and suddenly he collapsed on the ground. In vain, he tried to get up. If he could just walk a little bit more, then he'd be at the Musain where his friends would be. He could almost see their faces now, as if they stood right in front of him, laughing while waiting for him to arrive. If the snow wasn't so soft, he'd get up and join them. The pain from earlier had disappeared; only a strange numbness was left in his body. Maybe he could rest for an hour or two and then return to his friends with a speech or a new plan for the revolution.
Enjolras smiled as sleep finally took him.
At the Musain, Les Amis de l'ABC , with the exception of their leader, were waiting. In fact, they were waiting for Enjolras to arrive so that the meeting, which was scheduled at five o' clock, could begin. It was now half past five, and some of the Amis were starting to worry a little
"Enjolras is never late. What if something has happened to him?" asked Combeferre with a hint of worry in his voice. He and Enjolras had been friends for as long as anyone could remember, so it was only natural for Combeferre to worry.
"Calm down 'Ferre, he has probably just forgotten about time." answered Feuilly, although he'd started to worry a little himself. It was not like Enjolras to miss a meeting, not at all.
" I can't believe it, the the mighty Apollo has forgotten!" Grantaire said, laughing bitterly. He then went back to his bottle of absinthe, drowning out everything and everyone.
Another half an hour passed, and still there was no sign of Enjolras. By now, not only Combeferre was worried, but the other Amis too.
"I'll go check Enjolras' apartment, just to make sure he's all right." he said. But before he'd even taken a step towards the door, Grantaire stood up and exclaimed:
"I'll come with you!"
The others exchanged looks; the drunken cynic usually didn't behave like this.
The two of them hurried through the snow that now had begun to fall more heavily, making the cold night even colder.
None of them talked, both were too engulfed in their own thoughts to say anything. Soon they arrived at the building where Enjolras lived, small and simple with apartments made for students and workers.
Standing before the entrance of Enjolras apartment, Grantaire knocked on the door but was met with silence. He knocked again, and when he was left without a response he called:
"Apollo, are you in there?"
Nothing. The only solution was to use Combeferre's spare key and check inside. The apartment was small and sparsely furnished; the only thing that stood out was the red flag covering one of the walls. It didn't take them too long to come to the conclusion that Enjolras was nowhere to be found.
Therefore, they hurried back to the Musain, hoping that Enjolras would be there, scolding them for caring more about him than the cause. But when they returned, the only addition to their group was Gavroche.
"Was he there?" asked Jehan.
"No" answered Combeferre "anyone who knows where he might be?"
"He said something about handing out pamphlets today" said Joly from where he sat.
Graintaire had become paler and paler during the conversation, when he suddenly sprinted for the door.
"We have to find him!" he said through clenched teeth when the other Amis caught up with him. Les Amis de l'ABC therefore started searching for their leader in the dark streets of Paris.
They hadn't searched for a very long time when they came to a small alley. It was probably Courfeyrac who first saw it, something; or rather someone was lying on the ground. Even in the darkness, the red jacket and the golden curls stood out from the white snow. Combeferre rushed forward, but deep down he knew it was too late. .
The other Amis stood frozen on the spot as Combeferre knelt before their fallen leader. No one said a word, but the truth was etched all across their faces; they were too late, he was gone. The marble had cracked.
"No!" the cry escaped Grantaire's lips, and before anyone could stop him he was on the ground desperately shaking Enjolras' lifeless body. Through the haze of his tears he couldn't see the blood soaked shirt or the lips that had turned blue. He only saw Apollo's eyes, bright and blue and filled with fire. His Apollo couldn't be dead, it was impossible.
Grantaire couldn't feel his friend's arms around him, only the cold hand in his own warm.
"It's too late Grantaire."
"No! If we just get him inside, then he'll be all right! He's not dead, he can't be! Don't you see we have to help him?" he was shouting now, tears streaming down his face as he refused to accept the harsh truth.
By now Jehan was sobbing into Bahorel's shoulder, Feuilly was shaking, Marius had hid his face in his hands, Courfeyrac held a crying Gavroche, Joly and Bossuet embraced each other as if they never wanted to let go and Combeferre just stared into empty space, not even caring to conceal the tears that slowly ran down his face. Grantaire had calmed down, cradling Enjolras body and slowly rocking back and forth while whispering through his tears:
"Don't leave me Apollo. Don't leave me."
Yes, the marble had cracked, the light had gone out.
THE END