Bonjour Readers! So, this is the start of my little angst ficlet thing. They are all going to be as true to the Brick as possible! So, if you think I'm not being true to the Brick, tell me! I'm starting with Jean Prouvaire. Comment who you want next- it doesn't have to be a barricade boy I decided. I hope it's good. It's probably not, but, oh well, just constructive criticisms, no flames please…
"Fall back or I blow the barricade!" Marius' voice shouted from a few paces down. I hadn't even noticed that he had come after all.
I looked up as the officer he was talking to scoffed, "and yourself also?"
"And myself also." He lowered the torch to the barrel of gunpowder.
"Fall back!" The National Guard scattered. I was about to thank Marius when I was grabbed roughly and yanked backwards, back away from our little barricade. In the confusion, I did not even cry out. I had no idea what was going on. The world swirled with color, seeming more vivid than before. Colors that seemed almost too real, as if today were just an ordinary June day. Back, back to behind the lines of the National Guard.
My hands were tied roughly behind my back. Hands, that, previously, had never hurt anyone. A poet's hands. They used their bayonetted guns to shove me forward until I was facing several of them. Their guns were pointed at me and the realization that I was going to die finally sank in. They cocked their weapons and all I could think of is that I hoped that we did overcome. I hoped we would win. Don't cry. Don't cry, I thought. There's nothing you can do about it now. Eyes brimming with tears (curse them!), I looked at the firing squad.
« Vive la France ! Vive l'avenir ! »
Crack. Pain exploded for a second, then nothing.
