Children Shouldn't Live Like This – Chapter 16
There was a surreal atmosphere that filled the air as Gavroche walked through the streets, now completely void of people. The doors were all shut, and windows barred. The cold wind that blew through the streets sent a chill down Gavroche's spine, reminding him of a certain winter's night three years ago and causing him to tighten his blue coat, wrapping it more firmly around him to reassure himself.
The people of Paris had abandoned them overnight.
In the chaos that was the first battle of the Les Amis, it appeared that those whom the students had been fighting for had gotten cold feet, terrified by the sounds of gunshots and the sight of crimson blood. Deciding to save their own tails, they had all locked themselves into their houses, praying for the brave students but reluctant to sacrifice themselves for the cause.
Gavroche was angry, but he understood.
Who actually wanted to die?
As he strode contemplatively past the shut doors, the darkness of the streets seemed to call to him as the wind whistled past them. It spoke of sorrow, of grief, of tragedy. With an alarmingly foreboding feeling rushing through him, Gavroche sped up his pace as he hastened towards the barricades, where his friends rested.
The sound of a window opening caught his attention, and he turned, only to see a familiar shopkeeper. As the man hastily waved his arm to Gavroche and spoke, trying to convince the boy to enter his home and keep himself out of danger, Gavroche shook his head and walked slowly away. There was no way he would abandon his friends.
He thought about his fellow compatriots that lived on the streets, his little brothers, and hoped that they would stay safe.
As Gavroche neared the loud eruption of noise that came from around the corner, he turned his head and felt his heart leap to his throat.
They had started fighting already.
Dashing forward with all his might, Gavroche raced to the barricades where his friends battled against the military for the second time in two days. Fatigue was very evidently present on the faces of every man that still remained at the barricades, and the fight was tougher than before, especially considering their tremendous drop in the number of fighters still available.
Their passion for battle and fervor towards the cause, however, was still rife in the air. As rifles were reloaded and triggers were pulled, Gavroche could see men falling on both sides of the barricade. Horrified at the sight, Gavroche could feel his lunch lurch in his stomach. Forcing it back down and ignoring the faint taste of vomit in his throat, Gavroche withdrew his pistol, already loaded from the day before, and stayed silent in a corner, not daring to move another step for fear of being hit by a stray bullet.
His eyes widened as one of the soldiers got past the barricade and leapt into the streets where the men fought. No one seemed to notice his presence. Fear bubbled within his chest as the man, rifle still raised, turned to look for a feasible target, and eventually settled on a student far too familiar for Gavroche to forget.
Courfeyrac.
Gavroche wanted to scream and alert his dear friend, but his vocal chords failed him as terror flowed through his veins, nullifying his ability to perceive or react. As the soldier turned his rifle to target Courfeyrac, who was oblivious to the danger that lurked behind him, Gavroche snapped out of his stupefied trance and shakily raised his own pistol.
Gavroche had never shot a gun before; therefore he couldn't explain the events that manifested before his eyes. Perhaps it was the cold adrenaline that improved his visual perception tenfold, or just mother luck shining upon him for that crucial split-second. Gavroche didn't know. All he cared about was saving his friend.
As Gavroche pulled the trigger, he was immediately taken aback by the loud sound of thunder that rose from the tiny weapon, and nearly fell to the ground in surprise. The bullet, powered by the miniature explosion from within the gun, hit its mark, striking the soldier on his arm and causing him to yell out in shock and pain, the weapon clattering noisily on the ground as blood spurted from his wound. Alerted by the shout behind him, Courfeyrac spun around, noticed the soldier, and knocked him out with a solid blow to the head with his own rifle butt.
Their eyes met. Oblivious to the fact that Gavroche had just saved his life, Courfeyrac merely flashed the boy a brave smile before rushing back to the front of the barricades to engage in battle.
His heart pounding violently in his chest at what he had just witnessed, Gavroche tucked his pistol back into his coat whilst still keeping one hand on it, and stepped out of the shadows. Walking up to the unconscious soldier lying on the ground, Gavroche bent down and observed the wound. It was still rapidly streaming blood. His stomach turned to ice as he realized that this was probably how his sister had died.
Hyperventilating slightly at the morbid thought, Gavroche breathed heavily as he turned away from the pool of blood that was leaking and spreading onto the ground. He wanted to be brave, but the sight of life pouring out onto the dirty stones on the street was too much for his youth to bear.
Gavroche walked away from the soldier, not looking back. He tried to steady his breathing, but to no avail.
Around him, hell still raged.
Narrowly avoiding getting stepped upon by a bunch of men who raced out from a corner with weapons in their hands, Gavroche clung on to a wooden pillar and stepped behind it, feeling very much like a child afraid of being hurt. Sweeping his dirty blond hair out of his eyes, Gavroche turned to watch his friends, suddenly feeling very small and insignificant as his companions pushed on, no fear in their eyes.
Enjolras, at the helm of operations, shouting out commands frantically as he reloaded his gun. Without hesitation the leader of the Les Amis fired again, and another soldier fell, his life extinguished in an instant. His red coat standing out amongst the many students that manned the barricades, Gavroche wondered if Enjolras had forgiven him for his disobedience the day before.
Marius, desperately handing out weapons and ammunition to those who needed them. Another soldier scrambled past the barricade. Without missing a beat, the man fired his own weapon, watching the soldier fall at his feet. Eponine loved that man, and he deserved to be happy. Gavroche knew that.
Grantaire, previously absent from the action of the first battle, sitting calmly near the entrance of armory. The man had apparently decided to assist his friends despite his reluctance regarding revolution, and was now keeping stock of the available weapons and ammunition alongside Marius. Gavroche wondered if it had been their moment of camaraderie in alcohol that had convinced the man to stand up alongside the rest of them.
Joly, scrambling agitatedly to a fallen comrade and rapidly inspecting and bandaging his wounds, the doctor within him screaming out with vigor as he hastened to save yet another life. Gavroche had always admired Joly's work ethic, wondering how it was possible to work with blood on a daily basis and not be squeamish around it.
Courfeyrac, looking fiercer than Gavroche had ever seen him, firing away endlessly into the hoards of men that seemed to practically pour out from the other side of the barricade. He was an expert marksman, not missing a single shot. Gavroche recalled how Courfeyrac had saved him from his father's wrath not once, but twice. He practically owed the man his life.
They were all his friends. They were strong, but they needed help.
But what was Gavroche to do? He was so small, so unthreatening, so weak.
He was a child, nothing more.
Biting his lip, Gavroche sat down at the steps as he thought about his life. A disastrous childhood in the worst possible family environment God could have given him, and a brutal beating by his own father that left him on the brink of death. It seemed that the heavens mocked him, enjoying themselves as they bullied the young Gavroche. But there was always Eponine, who kept him alive. Then came along the group of students who had treated him as one of their own, taught him things he had never known and cared for him. How lucky was he to have been thrown out of that household? How fortunate was he to have met these people?
He owed them an insurmountable debt, and he just wanted to pay them back. He had promised, after all.
Time seemed to slow as Marius, counting the remaining ammunition available in the armory, shouted desperately to Enjolras. Gavroche didn't process his shout entirely, but the words "low ammunition" rang out clearly in his head. Enjolras' face fell, swearing as he hopped off the barricades towards the armory. As the two students quarreled over who was to cross the barrier and obtain ammunition from the dead French soldiers, Gavroche instantly knew what he had to do.
He rose to his feet.
Walking slowly towards the barricades, Gavroche took a moment and looked at every single one of his friends. They hadn't noticed him yet. Praying for their safety, Gavroche waited for the eyes facing him to turn another direction before hopping over the splintered wood that decorated the makeshift barricade.
Silence.
They had stopped firing.
Forcing down his fear, Gavroche smiled as it seemed to vanish entirely. He felt braver than ever. As the plucky young boy knelt down to snatch up the first packet of ammunition from a dead soldier that lay at his feet, he let out a low whistle as he popped the packet open and saw the large amount of ammunition that it contained.
Enjolras saw him first.
Gavroche ignored Enjolras' shouts for him to return to safety. Marius' own pleas that rang out in the air fell on deaf ears, as did Courfeyrac's frantic and desperate yells. Gavroche could hear some of the men holding the student back as he tried to force himself over the barricade to get to his youngest friend.
Gavroche appreciated their efforts, but nothing would stop him.
He would be useful.
As the first bullet, a single shot through the mist, whistled past his ear and burrowed itself into the barricade behind him, Gavroche grinned. They wouldn't hit him, not when he was as confident as this. They wouldn't dare to hit him. He was only a child, a pup. But appearances could be deceiving. He'd show them what for.
He'd show them all. He wasn't weak.
He was brave.
As Gavroche bent next to his second target lying dead on the ground, he started to sing.
Author's Note – I made this chapter surreal and dramatic by including zero dialogue. Hopefully that worked out. This one was difficult to write, so I hope you all enjoyed it.
Reviews appreciated.