6A/N: Enjolras contemplates the murder of Le Cabuc.
As I am not male, French or living in C19th Paris, how can I possibly own Les Miserables? I am simply trying to convey my love for Victor Hugo's epic novel into something cohesive- please don't sue me!
30. Murder (Les Miserables)
'You have one minute. Pray or ponder.'
His hands are shaking.
Even wrapped around the icy firmness of the carbine, he can still feel the tremors running up and down his fingers as his eyes flicker to his watch; determinedly not trying to focus on Cabuc.
At his feet, the murder gazes up at him; grey-green eyes filled with an almost mocking sense of pity as he takes in the dishevelled youth standing over him.
'You will not kill me, boy,' the eyes seemed to say as the seconds tick on and he waits, feeling the weight of his actions, of all the actions that have brought him to this moment pulling down on him, on them; these men, this band of brothers whom he knows, deep down will not survive.
The weight of the carbine shivers slightly as he feels himself swallow, drawing himself up to his full height as he does so.
'You do not have the stomach for this, boy!'
The blood already on his hands tells him otherwise.
The blood, the sweat, the hopes and lives and dreams that have built this barricade and so many like it all over Paris, tells him otherwise.
The fact that his friends, his lieutenants, his broken band of brothers who have seen so many of their own fall in the name of liberty are still with him, still standing beside him tells him otherwise.
The fact that an innocent citizen, one who had had nothing to do with their revolution and yet was the epitome of what they were fighting for, had been murdered tells him otherwise.
Green-grey eyes glare up at him as he reaches to undo the safety catch.
Above him, the sky is a grey blanket shrouding the city, a blanket that in just a few hours will be flooded scarlet with the sacrifice of so many.
'Enjolras?'
He had not heard Courfeyrac approach; cannot bring himself to turn to the lawyer, to let his guard down; even for an instant.
The centre's face is hard with distaste as he looks down at the silent, staring prisoner, his lip curling with sudden, inexplicable loathing for the creature that kneels before them. Even looking at Courfeyrac out of the corner of his eye, the expression is so hard, so utterly alien to the centre's usual joviality; that Enjolras has to swallow back a reproach that he knows cannot be said.
'Do what you must,' he hears Courfeyrac murmur; a hard, calloused hand resting for a moment on his shoulder, the weight feeling oddly comforting as he leans into it, forever grateful for the centre's presence.
Below him, the crowd waits, their breaths suddenly feeling far too thick and loud in the silence.
Even the city is quiet now; the streets feeling as if they are the auditorium hushed for the final curtain of a performance; a performance that he suddenly wishes that he did not have to undertake and yet knows that he must.
Knows that justice; however terrible, must be served in all its' forms if they have any hope of bringing the sense of liberty that the city; that his beloved, broken Patria has cried out for for so long.
On the fringes of the group, he can just make out Combeferre standing shoulder to shoulder with Jean Prouvaire. Their faces are set, their expressions guarded with the knowledge of what the next few minutes may bring, how their actions, his actions, may influence whether this ragged band of brothers may be able to get out this alive.
The seconds tick on, the grey-green eyes that he has come to loathe glaring at him through their mask of bruising.
'You do not have the stomach for this, do you, boy?'
He must end this.
He must end this because the revolution cannot be remembered like this; his legacy, their legacy cannot be bathed in the blood of an innocent whose killer walks free.
The carbine shivers slightly as he raises his arm to fire, the weapon suddenly icy in his grip as he takes his aim.
He hardly hears the final shot.
Hardly sees the body crumple to the ground, the deadly accuracy of the bullet lodged within his heart; sending the sickening scarlet life blood seeping over the cobbles at his feet.
Above him, the sky has begun to bleed and the new day, the new dawn that they have longed for, finally begins to rise.
A/N: Please feel free to read and review! Comments, suggestions, constructive criticisms etc are like chocolate to my brain!
Much love and enjoy x