I've never felt her run like this. Her feet, though bare are as light as those of a bird, as she darts across the sharply stoned pavement. I trail behind her heavily, almost clumsy upon her lithe form. Though I do my best to cover her, to envelope her in my warmth, my years of service to her have rendered me ragged and threadbare. My appearance is that which would be expected of the coat of a miserable street girl, and I love every hole in my fabric as I love her. However, there is nothing I can do to hide her from the wind, or keep her from trembling within me.
Once, twice, she looses her balance as she moves in a wavering zigzag line. She is constantly forced to duck, to avoid being hit by one of the many bullets whizzing through the air. I feel, what I assume she feels, fear and excitement that race through both of us. As one bullet after another misses her, I begin to fantasize that she is invincible, an invisible angel floating freely through a death trap. It seems to me, I never knew adventure or freedom, until I knew Eponine.
I can still remember my youth, my time as a thick, warm, artistically cut coat of a rich mistress. I only remember bits and pieces of my former mistress. She was larger than Eponine, with soft skin that smelled of lavender. She didn't have much use for me, because she seldom left the house. When she did, she walked in slow, measured steps, through gardens and other beautiful places. When she didn't need me, I slept alone in a dark closet.
When I was given to Eponine out of charity, I considered it a blessing. Since then, I have always served her as well as I could, though this service has been slowly destroying me. At this moment, I am terrified, because the bullets are coming closer and closer to my dear mistress. If just one hits, I fear I will not be able to save her. I know not why she has chosen to risk her young life in this manner.
Presently, she is gasping for breath. Her heart, in her little chest, is beating against me, singing a frantic song that only I am close enough to hear. A strange sort of shaky tenseness has developed in her muscles, and I feel it so acutely that I fear she will fall.
Perhaps it is her exhaustion that causes her attention to go lax, and her eyes to wonder from the guns surrounding her to the ground below her feet. Perhaps she is merely afraid to stare her death in the face, as the realization starts to come over us both that she is not invincible. It must be fear of the unavoidable that makes her tremble beneath me. She has come to close to the barricade, to the battle ground, to the student's bloody freedom fight. There is no place for human life. She is doomed.
Indeed, in an instant, a bullet comes whizzing straight towards her, black and glaring. I see her lift up her grubby hand in a desperate attempt to shield herself. Soon, a a large hole has swallowed up her palm. She tenses, and I pray that somehow I can stop the bullet from passing through me, and reaching her heart. It is of now use. The hole goes through us both. Hot, thick liquid trickles into me, the first few crimson drops being easily absorbed. She shudders, and then inexplicably renews her speed. Although her blood is now escaping her wound in torrents, her footing seems firmer and more decisive. I know not what desperation propels her foreword, but she is moving as if pulled by an angel.
She seems already to be a ghost to me by the time she reaches the barricade, a specter as she jumps down off of the wall. Her blood is everywhere now, dripping down her leg, and streaking her dark hair. I simply can not fathom how one so small has managed to bleed so much.
She smiles when she sees Marius, and patiently answers his questions about the letter she was to deliver. Ah! So that's the piece of paper she was carrying! So, it was that letter, and Marius, that brought her to this moment! And, he has yet to notice. He does not see, until she collapses in my arms.
I would hate him, if not for the smile that spread across my mistress's face the moment he touched her. I could actually feel the half delirious joy, brought on by his touch, move into me through her. At that moment, the shudders of pain that had been running through her ceased, and she was limp and relaxed in his arms. At that moment, the sky opened up, and rain poured down on us all.
He spoke softly to her, a few kind words that must have been heaven to her. He can't possibly understand how she loves him. Every night, when she is ready to go to bed, she always takes me off to bundle up as her pillow. Often, she falls asleep instantly, utterly exhausted. Other nights, however, when the days events have left her weary but restless, she speaks into me. She whispers his name, and speaks words of love as if he's there. Sometimes, she'll touch the empty pavement next to her, caress it, and try to feel him. Usually, she falls asleep with a smile on her face, and more rarely tears. Now, to finally have him holding her… I can hardly imagine what she must have felt. It was as though, by dieing in his arms, she had accomplished the greatest feat of her life.
Her eyes shut, her single moment of bliss fading far to quickly. Her breath and her words ceased at the same time. Her heart, full of love as it was, persisted in its feeble beat for nearly a minute. It only stopped when his lips touched her forehead. I am sure that she felt it.
His arms clutched her tightly as she cooled. How quickly the fire of life had left her, a limp corpse stained with blood and dirt. Even as Marius loosened his grip on her, her smile remained. Finally, she was content.
The next morning, a man came to clean up the pile of corpses that had grown near the barricade. Student's bodies were piled on top of another, lifeless and freezing. I still covered my dear Eponine, who lay at the very bottom of the heap. As the man lifted her up, back into the hazy morning sun, he looked at her face and smiled.
"Ah, she must be with God." He said, before throwing the two of us into the back of a death laden carriage. I do not know if she found God, but I know for at least a short time she found heaven, in Marius's arms.
Once, twice, she looses her balance as she moves in a wavering zigzag line. She is constantly forced to duck, to avoid being hit by one of the many bullets whizzing through the air. I feel, what I assume she feels, fear and excitement that race through both of us. As one bullet after another misses her, I begin to fantasize that she is invincible, an invisible angel floating freely through a death trap. It seems to me, I never knew adventure or freedom, until I knew Eponine.
I can still remember my youth, my time as a thick, warm, artistically cut coat of a rich mistress. I only remember bits and pieces of my former mistress. She was larger than Eponine, with soft skin that smelled of lavender. She didn't have much use for me, because she seldom left the house. When she did, she walked in slow, measured steps, through gardens and other beautiful places. When she didn't need me, I slept alone in a dark closet.
When I was given to Eponine out of charity, I considered it a blessing. Since then, I have always served her as well as I could, though this service has been slowly destroying me. At this moment, I am terrified, because the bullets are coming closer and closer to my dear mistress. If just one hits, I fear I will not be able to save her. I know not why she has chosen to risk her young life in this manner.
Presently, she is gasping for breath. Her heart, in her little chest, is beating against me, singing a frantic song that only I am close enough to hear. A strange sort of shaky tenseness has developed in her muscles, and I feel it so acutely that I fear she will fall.
Perhaps it is her exhaustion that causes her attention to go lax, and her eyes to wonder from the guns surrounding her to the ground below her feet. Perhaps she is merely afraid to stare her death in the face, as the realization starts to come over us both that she is not invincible. It must be fear of the unavoidable that makes her tremble beneath me. She has come to close to the barricade, to the battle ground, to the student's bloody freedom fight. There is no place for human life. She is doomed.
Indeed, in an instant, a bullet comes whizzing straight towards her, black and glaring. I see her lift up her grubby hand in a desperate attempt to shield herself. Soon, a a large hole has swallowed up her palm. She tenses, and I pray that somehow I can stop the bullet from passing through me, and reaching her heart. It is of now use. The hole goes through us both. Hot, thick liquid trickles into me, the first few crimson drops being easily absorbed. She shudders, and then inexplicably renews her speed. Although her blood is now escaping her wound in torrents, her footing seems firmer and more decisive. I know not what desperation propels her foreword, but she is moving as if pulled by an angel.
She seems already to be a ghost to me by the time she reaches the barricade, a specter as she jumps down off of the wall. Her blood is everywhere now, dripping down her leg, and streaking her dark hair. I simply can not fathom how one so small has managed to bleed so much.
She smiles when she sees Marius, and patiently answers his questions about the letter she was to deliver. Ah! So that's the piece of paper she was carrying! So, it was that letter, and Marius, that brought her to this moment! And, he has yet to notice. He does not see, until she collapses in my arms.
I would hate him, if not for the smile that spread across my mistress's face the moment he touched her. I could actually feel the half delirious joy, brought on by his touch, move into me through her. At that moment, the shudders of pain that had been running through her ceased, and she was limp and relaxed in his arms. At that moment, the sky opened up, and rain poured down on us all.
He spoke softly to her, a few kind words that must have been heaven to her. He can't possibly understand how she loves him. Every night, when she is ready to go to bed, she always takes me off to bundle up as her pillow. Often, she falls asleep instantly, utterly exhausted. Other nights, however, when the days events have left her weary but restless, she speaks into me. She whispers his name, and speaks words of love as if he's there. Sometimes, she'll touch the empty pavement next to her, caress it, and try to feel him. Usually, she falls asleep with a smile on her face, and more rarely tears. Now, to finally have him holding her… I can hardly imagine what she must have felt. It was as though, by dieing in his arms, she had accomplished the greatest feat of her life.
Her eyes shut, her single moment of bliss fading far to quickly. Her breath and her words ceased at the same time. Her heart, full of love as it was, persisted in its feeble beat for nearly a minute. It only stopped when his lips touched her forehead. I am sure that she felt it.
His arms clutched her tightly as she cooled. How quickly the fire of life had left her, a limp corpse stained with blood and dirt. Even as Marius loosened his grip on her, her smile remained. Finally, she was content.
The next morning, a man came to clean up the pile of corpses that had grown near the barricade. Student's bodies were piled on top of another, lifeless and freezing. I still covered my dear Eponine, who lay at the very bottom of the heap. As the man lifted her up, back into the hazy morning sun, he looked at her face and smiled.
"Ah, she must be with God." He said, before throwing the two of us into the back of a death laden carriage. I do not know if she found God, but I know for at least a short time she found heaven, in Marius's arms.