Five hundred francs don't go very far-not as far as it used to, at least. When mid-winter arrived, the money was gone. Papa spent it on firewood and alcohol. No one came to our inn anymore because the economy was so bad, so our source of revenue was gone. Papa was always out these days, never doing anything productive. We assumed he was at taverns, squandering the little money we had left. No one knew anymore. No one cared. All anyone in this household cared about was themselves.
One day, when Azelma was huddled under a blanket trying to keep warm, and I was sweeping (after Gavroche was sold, I had become much like Cosette was previously. No one would talk to me, or look at me, or even acknowledge my presence. All I could eat were people's scraps. I was treated worse than an animal.) papa stumbled into the house, clearly intoxicated.
"We're movin' to Paris!" he slurred.
Everyone in the house froze. We were shocked into silence. Mother was the first to speak. "Paris? We cannot afford to live in Paris."
"I sol' the inn!" papa said in a garble.
"Excuse me?! How could you do that? Our home is here! Our life is here!" mother argued.
"Not anymore," papa replied. "Now go pack your things. We've got the carriage waiting outside."
Azelma and I looked at each other, knowing fully well that we had no belongings, nor would our lives change in Paris. I took her hand and walked her upstairs into our room.
"'Ponine... what're we gonna do?" she asked me.
I looked at her. "You heard what papa said. We're gonna pack our things."
"We don't have 'things'," she muttered.
"Do you see those bed sheets?" I asked her. Azelma nodded. "Those our our things. You will leave nothing in this house that could be of use," I continued.
Azelma nodded and started taking the sheets off of the bed.
"M-maybe things will change in Paris," she said, turning to me.
As I looked at her, I could see the pain in her eyes. The tears rolling down her cheeks revealed how much she really loved this home, no matter how cruel it had been to us.
"Sit down," I told her.
She complied and sat on the bed. I kneeled down in front of her.
"Some things have to change, 'Zelma," I begin. "Some changes are for the better and some are not. There's no way to tell which is which until the change is made."
She nodded meekly, trying to understand. I doubted that she could. She was still quite young. It pained me to see someone this young experiencing so much pain. Life had been harsh to her. I reached my hand up to Azelma's face and wiped the tears away, then I stood up.
"It's time to go, 'Zelma," I said softly.
She looked up at me with her innocent eyes, and she got up, grabbing the small bag that we had packed. We walked down the stairs and saw papa standing by the door.
"Well it took you long enough! Get in the carriage before the rain gets through the open door!" papa yelled at us.
We hurried into the carriage, not saying a word. I took a seat by the window and papa crawled in behind us.
I looked out of the window, which was soaked with rain, taking a glimpse at the inn I was raised in. It had been my home for so long, it was strange to think of what life would be without it. That's a bit silly, knowing that it is just an object, but it was all I knew of the world. It contained my entire past, from birth to the carriage ride. The house was like a part of me.
Soon, the rain washed over the window and I could see the house no longer. I wiped a small tear out of my eyes. Hope is a strange thing. You find it in the most bizarre places at the most bizarre times. At that moment, I felt hopeful. Life had only been cruel to my family, so we were cruel back. But maybe Azelma was right. Maybe Paris would prove to be a better place for us. Either way, the past is gone now; the rain washed it away.