Since today is the 181st aniversary of the death of the French Revolutionaries and of the failed French Revolution of 1832, I thought I would write this. Also, in this Marius died too.

Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis or any of the characters.

They were dead. All of them.

They had died fighting for freedom, fighting for the people, fighting for Patria. They'd had bravery in every essence of the word, even when they had realised that they would not win the battle, that the people had abandoned them, they did not back down. They continued to fight at the cost of their lives. They'd all shared the same goal: to free France. They'd wanted a country with no king, no bourgeois, no poverty. They had believed that everyone should be treated equally. They had dreamed of a greater tomorrow, but tomorrow never came.

It was true, all of the French Revolutionaries had died.

Would they be remembered? Certainly! Had they made any difference! Of course they had! People do not forget insurrections, nor do insurrections ever fail to make change. Surely someday the people would rise, would they not? That would remain to be seen.

Their dead bodies lay side by side. If you looked past the blood, there was almost a sort of serenity about them. They almost looked like they could be sleeping. Supposedly they were sleeping; an eternal sleep.

They would never wake. They would never grow old. They would never see a free France.

At the top of the barricade built in the Rue de la Chanvrerie, in the heart of Paris, still stood the red flag of revolution and, standing next to it, the French flag.

The pavement was wet with slick crimson blood and the walls of the nearby buildings were splattered with it. Paris, having witnessed the deaths of the valiant revolutionaries, openly wept for them. Her tears washed away the blood, sending it deep into the Parisian underground, and leaving only a few puddles of crimson. The rain washed the dried blood from the revolutionaries' faces.

Paris was not the only one to weep for this loss. The revolutionaries had lovers; had wives; had parents; had children; had siblings. For some, they'd had no other family than a now dead revolutionary. Such people were completely alone now, with their only family member dead.

June 6th, 1832 was a grim day for Paris. There were many losses.

The barricade had fallen, none of the revolutionaries had survived.

They were dead. All of them.

There ya have it. Rather short, I know, but I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless. Please review!