I gaze through the dust and grime in the air at our beautiful Apollo, perched on the barricade, our symbol of a new beginning. How can a new beginning rise from the destroyed remains of humanity? How can we build a new way of life by demolishing the old one? The once-familiar tables, chairs, even street-carts are now wrecked, mangled, unrecognisable.
How can he kill so mercilessly? I watch him, now reloading, now aiming his carbine at those poor unhappy children, who barely know what it is that they are fighting for or against. He pulls the trigger.
'What a pity! What a hideous thing these bloodbaths are! I'm sure, when there are no more kings, there will be no more war. Enjolras, you're aiming at that sergeant, you're not looking at him. Just think that he's a charming young man; he's intrepid; you can see that he's a thinker, these young artillerymen are well educated; he has a father, a mother, a family; he's in love, probably; he's twenty-five at most; he might be your brother.' Then came something that surprised me:
'He is.' How can he kill, then, knowing that these are real, living, breathing people?
'Yes, and mine too. We mustn't kill him.'
'Leave me alone. We must do what we must.' I had never in my life seen Enjolras cry.
And what of killing our 'brother'? A few minutes had been gained
Why must we kill to build a new society? Why must we destroy the old one just to see the new one rise to take its place?
I make up an excuse and go inside what was once a café. Now it is a hospital, a military supply store, a morgue. My eyes are aching from the threat of an onslaught of tears, yet I cannot break down. Everywhere there are people, calling to me for help, begging for assistance. How can I refuse? I automatically go through the movements, bandaging, putting splints on wounds I know will never heal.
I return outside, barely knowing what I am doing or where I am going. I hear more people calling my name. Enjolras. I follow the sound of his voice, a diamond cutting through the dark, messy coal of the world. Someone hands me a musket. Blindly, I take aim.