a gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes, as if to hide a lonely tear.
It's over.
They were the words that spun through Enjolras' mind as he stood by the window, rifles pointed directly at his chest and the bodies of three of his good, brave friends – how brave they had been, because they had stood until the very end, when they were all shot through the floorboards – surrounding his feet. He still held the red flag in his hand, but then he started to contemplate.
When he had first considered the revolution, he had told very, very few people. Of course, he had told Marius and he had told Grantaire, but there was another girl he had told, too. She had, desperately, now he thought about it hard, tried to stop him. But what had he done? All he had done was brushed it off and told her it would be okay. He would live and they would all be free. That was what he had told her and she didn't believe him. She had screamed at him that he was being ridiculous, there weren't enough of them to do it and people would back out.
He loved France. He wanted to be free and he wanted to be somebody. Would people remember him for this? Probably not. He was just another of the body count, and so was Gavroche and Eponine and Combeferre and Feuilly and Marius – no, wait. Marius. Where was he? Had he run too? But Enjolras was sure he had seen him be shot. He must be part of the body count too, and Enjolras was sorry. He was sorry that he had got so many of them involved and they had all died without changing anything. It was all in vain. Gavroche was so young and he was shot trying to help them. His blood boiled. They had murdered a child.
A creaking on the stairs snapped him back. His blue eyes flickered over to where the soldiers were now looking, and they softened when he saw Grantaire there, looking at all of them in shock and at the same time, acceptance. He pushed through and suddenly it was the two of them, standing together, all for France. Grantaire may have been an idiot and he may have drunk like a lord, but he was still one of Enjolras' best friends.
But he couldn't help but think of something – no, someone – in those few minutes he had left. The day she had told him that she loved him, he threw it aside. He had no room for love in his life. That was what he had decided and he didn't allow himself to think otherwise back then. She had begged him not to go and yet he still left her. It was autumn back in that time. It was her favourite season, he disjointedly thought. She loved it, because it wasn't too hot and it wasn't too cold, and everything was beautiful colours. The summer sun was fading and darker days were drawing near. It was summer now. She would have her season soon.
He wished he had done different. No, he didn't wish he had done different. He just wished she was here, so she could tell him she was right so he could tell her he was wrong. But he didn't want her here, because she would die like Eponine had died. Did Enjolras surround himself with people fated to die? That seemed to be like that, didn't it? Everyone had died. Maybe Marius had lived, because he could have sworn he saw that Jean Valjean man carrying him away. He prayed he had lived, so maybe he could go see that dratted girl he was so infatuated with.
He looked ahead of him and his face went white when he saw an oh-so-familiar face looking up at him through the gap in the stair barriers. She seemed older now, but her face was still the same and her dark eyes were sad, so sad, and his heart broke when he realised that he did love her. But it was too late for it now and all he could do was will her to run. Give her time to run. That was what he could do.
But even then, he knew she wouldn't. She would get killed too. He could see it in her eyes now as they locked eyes for the briefest of seconds, and he turned back to the soldiers and lifted the red flag in the air. Vive la France.
But as the first of the bullets pierced his body, he heard her scream his name. No! Run! Leave! And he was falling, falling through the open window, and he refused to let go. Disjointed thoughts –
Autumn
France
Revolution
Gavroche
Marius
Eponine
Grantaire
Combeferre
Feuilly
Courfeyrac
Joly
Friends
You
Autumn, forever autumn -
And she was over him in seconds, trying to hold him before he fell outside the window, still gripping the flag, but she was too late, she was too late again, and she had lost him for the second time.
"Enjolras..." she sobbed. But she didn't have to grieve for long. She gripped his free hand before that was lost, too, and she told them to shoot her.
The final gunshot rang. The revolution was over.
my life will be forever autumn now you're not here...
Welp. That was sadly easy to write. This is my last and only story on FF now, because I don't spend enough time on here anymore.
I've seen Les Mis twice now and I still love that movie with all my heart. I love Enjolras, so much, and me being me, I had to write an EnjolrasxOC oneshot... don't kill me for it. I hated Enjolras' death. Just... all of it.
But please review, favourite, whatever. I like those.
Vive la France.
~BurningMoon