Goodbye, Eponine

I crawled over the barricade, feeling more and more angstier by the second. I've been shot, and M'sieur Marius didn't even care.

"Eponine? Are you okay? Oh, Eponine, no! You can't be shot!"

It didn't hurt anymore. I lightly touched his face, and whispered "M'sieur Marius, you're brighter than all the celestial bodies in the firmament." I meant it too. He was a lawyer, after all. And he was sexy as well. I don't think he had very good hearing, though, because he didn't react at all.

"M'sieur Marius, it's for the best. You were a bit of a narcissist anyway. I did tell you to get in touch with your feminine side, but things were getting ridiculous. You were getting in touch with far too many sides."

He looked at me oddly. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about us!" His brow furrowed, and I realized that it was the wrong thing to say. "Don't you remember? We got married and lived in a villa on the Riviera, for crying out loud! Do you not remember our sixteen children? Or Montparnasse being our landlord? Or how your friends would visit us every year, and Cosette ran off with that Jean Prouvaire fellow and they lived in China. . ." Suddenly I remembered. I had dreamed it. Dreamed all of it. . . Oh, dammit. Did my last moment really have to be like a story from Seventeen?

It must have been frightening to hear all of this, but he really didn't have to throw me on the ground like that. On the bright side, death came much quicker.