Bangs resounded in the small room waking Grantaire from his deep sleep. Jolting up, the drunkard stared at the gruesome scene in front of him.
A line of soldiers stood facing away from him and there, just past them, stood Enjolras. At first glance he appeared to be his normal resolute self standing against those that he deemed cruel and unjust. However, when the soldiers moved they revealed the terrible truth. Blood ran down Enjolras's chest from several bullet wounds; the angel was dead. The man who had lived for his country, his people and never for himself, had passed from this cruel world and into his eternal afterlife where he would be revered for the wonder that he was. The tragedy of a short life cut before its time was compounded by the fact that no one, except Grantaire, would remember the beautiful man who faced death with the grace of one who believed that his death may help improve the lives of the innocents of France.
Except, no. No one would be alive to remember him. Grantaire had lived for Enjolras and with him gone there was little point left in fighting. Grantaire reeled forwards, pushing past the hesitant murderers who had taken the lives of all his friends. Falling to his knees, as if in worship, in front of Enjolras, Grantaire allowed a soft sob to escape him as the wounds were shown clearly. The way Enjolras had fallen had left him flat against the wall, still standing strong.
Forcing himself to his feet again, Grantaire turned to stand next to the body of his leader. Several rifles pointed at him just the way he wanted it. His teary eyes stared into the uncertain eyes of the leader of the opposition. Pulling himself together he spoke, "I stand with them. Either kill me or I will fight you to my last breath to ensure that you suffer for the deaths of my friends."
The leader nodded, "Do you wish to be blindfolded?"
"No, I welcome the sight of death."
The leader ordered, "Fire."
As one the several soldiers pulled their trigger firing bullets into the last of the Friends of the ABC. As the light left Grantaire's eyes, his legs gave way so he fell to land sprawled at the feet of the one he had admired so. That day the believers of the Republic fell. The death toll was so large that no one except the soldiers who had been ordered to kill them would remember the death of the fearless leader who faced the firing squad resolutely and the cynic who declared himself a believer just so he could join his friend in the afterlife.