And I Am Alone

by Rena Jade les Khioh

Grantaire slept through the barricade on a hangover. How would you feel if you woke up and all of your friends were dead? Or in sewers. Or just . . . well, whatever.

I awake on my back, staring up at a plaster ceiling.

I don't know where I am. I don't know how I got here.

Sunlight streams in through dusty windows. It must be some time late afternoon.

No one stirs.

The silence in the room is eerie. It reminds me somehow of a mausoleum. I am afraid to make a sound.

Am I drunk?

I don't think so. I remember a table littered with bottles, but that seemed years ago.

I am certain of my sobriety.

I sit up.

Pain, a sharp pain. My head.

I hear myself cry out.

Colors swirl.

Red.

I turn around swiftly.

Enjolras?

I shove him gently, fighting to keep my own balance.

He falls into me.

I feel something seeping through my shirt.

Blood?

Yes, but it can't be mine.

Enjolras?

Enjolras doesn't reply.

I stand.

What I see nearly makes me retch.

Bodies litter the ground.

Silence.

This is no ordinary nightmare.

There are no stairs.

I look out the window.

More bodies.

Blood.

A barricade?

I find the courage to cry out.

Enjolras!

Feuilly!

Joly!

Jean Provaire!

Combeferre!

Courfeyrac!

Bahorel!

Bossuet?

Silence.

No one stirs.

This is a nightmare.

And I am alone.