It wasn't always like this for us, a never ending struggle to survive. And yet even though we still survive, we are not living. Oh no, I would not call what we do living. In the slums of Saint Michel, you would find most people would agree with me. Most of us would prefer to be dead, and most of us will soon obtain that wish.

Yet, there are still those who, despite their struggle, face each day's challenges with a strong will. And though she has a fate worse than anyone in all of France, my sister is one of those people. Her name is Eponine. An eighteen year old with more experience behind her than most forty year old men will ever know. For the loneliest people are the kindest, the saddest people smile the brightest, the most damaged people are the wisest, and my sister is all of those.

But it wasn't always like this. There was a time, Eponine tells me that things were different, when there was a servant girl to do the chores and that she could play all day. But then a man came for the girl, and Papa and Mamman lost the inn, and we were left with nothing.

So, Papa started thieving and when she was old enough, Eponine was forced to as well. Then when I came along, Eponine begged Papa not to make me. She was ten, and I was eight, but I still remember the fight.

"Papa, please! She's just a child!" Eponine screamed at our father, tears beginning to form in her brown eyes.

Thenardier stepped closer to his daughter, looming over her threateningly. "I don't want one more word out of you, you little brat." Eponine turned her head as the scent of our fathers alchahol-ridden breath hit her square in the face. She pushed herself up against the rotting wall of the small house (if you could call it that).

"I'll do anything, Papa ... just please ... don't make 'Zelm-" Her pleas were cut short as I heard the sickening smack of skin on skin. Eponine crumpled to the floor, holding her cheek, and looking up at her father.

"I said SHUT UP!" He screamed, letting his fists once more fall on his daughter.

Eponine cried out as pain began to envelope her senses. She wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to protect herself from her father's blows. And then suddenly, it just stopped. Eponine let her good eye flick up to Papa, as he stood over her, panting, his hands still balled into angry fists.

"Fine." He said, "You want to take up Azelma's part of the work? Then do it. But I'm warning you, 'Ponine. You screw up, and there will be hell to pay." With one final kick to her leg, he left.

Once I made certain he left the room, I joined my sister. She was still huddled in against the wall, shaking viciously. I watched in horror as bruises began to flourish, taking place of the old ones that already littered her slender frame. I placed a hand on her shoulder, "Why do you do that, 'Ponine?"

Eponine looked up at me, a faint smile gracing her lips as tears continued to fall down her cheeks. "Because, I want you to have a better chance. I don't want you to wind up like me." Her smile fell and her lower lip began to tremble. She bowed her head suddenly, placing a hand to her forehead in shame.

"I'm so sorry, 'Zelma." she cried.

"For what, 'Ponine?" I said softly, "You are saving me. It is I, who should be sorry."

From that day forward, I watched as my sister took the blame for everything that happened. When Gavroche ran away, she was the receiving end of my father's anger, when I messed up, she took my punishment.

It wasn't always like this, but from now on it always will be.

Hope you like it (: will be updating soon

xo