As I peered through my window at the fighting in the streets, I couldn't
help but wonder if they knew how hopeless their fight was.
This group of people, Les Amis de l'ABC they called themselves, what did they think they were proving? Certainly, they didn't think that this petty revolution would change things here in France. No, one group wouldn't do it. I must say, I admired their courage; their strength.
Especially the one named Enjolras.
He almost seemed as if he didn't belong in this world. He was almost. like an angel. A statue. A pillar of force. He was intense, passionate, and severe. Yet, he seemed so fragile. I knew he would fight to the death. He was so charismatic and he seemed to convert anybody to his cause with a single speech.
Enjolras left me in awe. I would sit in the café that the group frequented and just watch him, long after the others had gone home. I always wondered what it was about him that left me clinging to his every word and believing everything he said, even though sometimes I didn't agree. He had that effect on me. He had that effect on a lot of people.
He died that night. I recall my father coming home and telling me that all the students on the barricade had been killed.
"Everyone?" I inquired.
"Everyone," He responded.
Enjolras had always seemed like he belonged in Heaven. Maybe he did. He deserved to go to Heaven more than anybody I had ever known. I cried that night. I wept into my pillow. I guess I was just a silly little girl with a crush on a handsome young revolutionary, but he seemed like so much more to me.
It's been three years since the day that they were laid in the ground. It hurts to think that this brave, although foolish, group of men have no gravestones marking their eternal resting spots. They deserve so much more. They truly and honestly believed in changing France, and they were so devoted to the fight. That fight was the death of them. They knew it would be. They kept on battling.
Every year, I visit the graveyard. Every year, I reflect on my life, the lives of others, and the lives of these simple college students who wanted nothing more than equality. I wish they could have seen their dream come true.
I hope that some day, I will see it.
This group of people, Les Amis de l'ABC they called themselves, what did they think they were proving? Certainly, they didn't think that this petty revolution would change things here in France. No, one group wouldn't do it. I must say, I admired their courage; their strength.
Especially the one named Enjolras.
He almost seemed as if he didn't belong in this world. He was almost. like an angel. A statue. A pillar of force. He was intense, passionate, and severe. Yet, he seemed so fragile. I knew he would fight to the death. He was so charismatic and he seemed to convert anybody to his cause with a single speech.
Enjolras left me in awe. I would sit in the café that the group frequented and just watch him, long after the others had gone home. I always wondered what it was about him that left me clinging to his every word and believing everything he said, even though sometimes I didn't agree. He had that effect on me. He had that effect on a lot of people.
He died that night. I recall my father coming home and telling me that all the students on the barricade had been killed.
"Everyone?" I inquired.
"Everyone," He responded.
Enjolras had always seemed like he belonged in Heaven. Maybe he did. He deserved to go to Heaven more than anybody I had ever known. I cried that night. I wept into my pillow. I guess I was just a silly little girl with a crush on a handsome young revolutionary, but he seemed like so much more to me.
It's been three years since the day that they were laid in the ground. It hurts to think that this brave, although foolish, group of men have no gravestones marking their eternal resting spots. They deserve so much more. They truly and honestly believed in changing France, and they were so devoted to the fight. That fight was the death of them. They knew it would be. They kept on battling.
Every year, I visit the graveyard. Every year, I reflect on my life, the lives of others, and the lives of these simple college students who wanted nothing more than equality. I wish they could have seen their dream come true.
I hope that some day, I will see it.