ADIEU » LES MISÉRABLES | ✓

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

His world ended on 6th June 1832, in the summer heat.

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Enjolras was seconds away from his death. And yet he was strangely calm, acutely aware of everything around him. His senses were commanding him to feel for the last time, and so he did.

The morning sunlight was warm against the back of his neck. The red flag, though riddled with bullet holes, was soft against the skin of his palm - an unexpected comfort.

When Grantaire, having awoken from his drunken stupor, stumbled up to him, he looked him in his muddy green eyes and smiled, softly.

The soldiers were hesitating. In the heat of the battle, it was easy to kill, but in the muted stillness of dawn, they hardly dared to look him in the eyes.

Cowards, the lot of them. Enjolras lifted the flag in his hand, then raised his head with pride. He was offered a blindfold, but declined it immediately - he would stare into their eyes. He would make sure they never forgot him - it was the least he deserved.

He watched steadily as they aimed their rifles, and allowed himself to remember.

He remembered his sisters. He remembered his friends. He remembered Gavroche, and the shudder of his little body when he heard his sister die.

He remembered Claudine. He remembered the exact shade of her eyes - the color of the sky when dusk was just about to dip into night. He remembered the feel of her skin - soft, like snow, and her kiss. She had tasted like honey.

And then his world exploded, in short bright bursts of color. This was interspersed with flashes of a future with her, of what could have been - of dark-haired, blue-eyed children, of tears, of laughter, of life.

He felt the bullets piercing his body, but strangely enough, there was no pain. It was pleasurable, this sensation - it felt like he was falling into the light.