Children Shouldn't Live Like This – Epilogue
"To whoever reads this,
Congratulations on surviving the onslaught of the army, and I pray that we succeeded in our cause. Of course, if you are in fact reading this, I am presumed dead or incapacitated; as I had planned to remove this letter from the café myself if I had survived. My death is unfortunate, however we had all agreed that we would sacrifice even our own lives for the sake of revolution, therefore I surrender myself to the heavens willingly.
My last message to whoever reads this, be it friend or foe, is simple. I want to describe my purpose for starting the Les Amis, for formulating our plots and ultimately threatening the French Republic. If you are a member of France's military, I applaud you for your efforts in the battles and your supposed righteousness that you stand for. I posthumously, and respectfully disagree with your ideals.
A long time ago, the people of France killed their incompetent king, and a new king was selected to lead the people towards brighter days ahead. Unfortunately, the French tried to change the world far too fast, and ended up driving themselves into a pit, one where the rich rested smugly in their beds made of gold and dresses of satin, whilst the poor struggled for food, water and for some, shelter. It is a cruel reflection of what happens when our leaders are consumed and blinded by power, a reality that is not only avoidable, but unforgivable.
Our cause is this: we wanted to bring power back to the people of France. We wanted equality. We wanted a country where no one would have to struggle for survival and resort to breaking the law to stay alive. We wanted to restore France back to the glorious empire it once was.
I started the Les Amis with a small group of friends. In the case where they are in hiding from the law at this moment and a member of the army is indeed reading this, I shall refrain from writing their names. At the point of its conception a mere five years ago, I was a simple first year law student, more worried about my dissertations than the idea of revolution. The thought of overthrowing the king was minute, a passing daydream that occasionally occurred to me. The idea didn't appeal much even to me then, as I was one of the more fortunate of the working class, actually having a home and parents that had jobs bringing in a flow of income that was more than sufficient for survival.
My ideas would have never gotten past that stage if it weren't for an event that truly inspired me to properly plan for a student-led uproar.
On a snowy and chilly night five years ago, my friend brought to this very café an unnamed young boy around the age of eight, brutally beaten, bloodied, and desperately undernourished. I am sure that he would definitely have perished if it weren't for my friend's sharp eyes and noble heart. The cause for his predicament was unknown to us. It was only later that I learnt that his father, an infamous cheat, had nearly killed him with his own hands and cast him out of the family. I was at that point convinced that the boy would die. If he didn't, I was convinced that he would spend the rest of his life traumatized by the brutality inflicted upon him, growing up to become one of the many criminals that lurked the streets for a bite to eat, just like the situation that many face in the Paris of today.
My fears were completely unfounded. Through a month of careful treatment and interaction with my group of friends, we all watched as this young boy blossomed into a ball of youthful and eager energy, jumping at every opportunity to learn and taking on every conversation with a wide smile on his face. Not wanting to be indebted to us, the child left with a promise that he would one day repay our efforts. We see him often, and hear about his selfless spirit, how he often gives whatever little food he has obtained to friends living on the streets that need it more.
The boy represented two sides of Paris to me, one of the present and one of the possible future. On one hand, he was a child born to parents that despised him, a family that funded their survival on criminal activity and didn't have time to care, let alone love a young boy that didn't appear to be able to give much to their cause. On the other hand, if the children of today were to receive care, a proper education and happiness, they could grow up to become citizens of France that actually cared for their fellow-men and for their country.
That ideal future, unfortunately, is impossible under the current government. If the poor continue to suffer under the conditions that they do now, there is no way for our children to grow up happy and healthy. The wheel of darkness and evil that now consumes the streets of Paris will continue to turn, and Paris will never rise from the gutters into which it has fallen.
The boy I mentioned earlier is, hopefully, safe. I have made precautions to ensure that he does not get into the crosshairs of our battles. He is far too young to be involved and far too young to waste his life away, and children shouldn't live like that.
If we had succeeded in our cause, I rejoice with you from the heavens, and pray for brighter days ahead as the people of France forge on forward to restore the pride of our nation. I pray that the boy and the many children like him grow up to become said pride. If, god forbid, we had failed in our attempts, I pray that France will continue to fight and forge on forward regardless to restore our empire. Our victory is not moot. It has merely been delayed by unforeseen circumstances. I have faith that we will succeed in the future.
In either of these cases, if you are one of the student fighters who had survived the onslaught, you would know the boy. Please, on my behalf, pass this letter to him and my apologies for the times where I had been overly strict with him.
Viva la France.
Bien des choses à tous,
Enjolras
Leader of the Les Amis"
Hands trembling as he read Enjolras' letter, Marius gently folded up the sheet of paper and tucked it into his coat pocket. As a million thoughts, all involving tragedy and sadness, filled his mind, he struggled to hold back tears as he thought about his friends.
Eponine. Enjolras. Courfeyrac. Grantaire. Joly. Gavroche.
As he thought sorrowfully about Enjolras' cause and the empty chairs and empty tables that littered the now destroyed café, Marius withdrew the letter and opened it for the second time, reading its contents. He thought about his dreams as a hopeful young student, enthusiastic about the future. He thought about the times he had spent with his friends.
He thought about his many regrets, about how he had never known the truth about Eponine before she had left him, about how he never had the chance to introduce Gavroche to Cosette, like he had promised, and about how Gavroche would never receive the letter that Enjolras had written to him.
Finally unable to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to drown him, Marius leant against a table and wept.
Author's Note – I really enjoyed writing this last chapter, so I'll save my long author's note for the next "chapter". This concludes my story, "Children Shouldn't Live Like This." I hope you all enjoyed it. Reviews would be dearly, dearly appreciated, and I urge you all to review at any time you wish, even months or years into the future. Any feedback would be positive to me as a writer.
See you all in the next author's note.