~Beaumont's POV~
"CANNONS!" I hear my commanding officer screech. My cue. I am a an a play, I gracefully take it. I push out my prop, a large cannon, destined to end this act of our perfomance. I stand there at attention waiting for my next movement. I look around at the set that graces me. A sky painted with smoke from gunfire, and cobblestones soaked crimson with the fallen actors. It is a gruesome sight that the audience most likely turns away from.
The commanding officers lets out his next line in a fit of rage, "FIRE!" I do as I am directed. I pull on the end of the cannon, and watch as the ball hits the barricade, causing it to diminish. The barricade is the weakest point of our set. It was dilapidated, and held together by the hope and prayers of the men who stand behind it. It does not matter anymore however, for it now lies in shambles upon the square.
My next direction is called out to me from the officer, "Charge!" I follow after my fellow actors, as we climb over broken chairs and fallen pianos and wadrobes towards the men remaining upon the barricade. The men remaining look desparate, banging upon unanswered doors, and clinging to one another's limp bodies. It is clear that this play is a tragedy, but for which side it has not yet been decided. For you see, the play is not finished, and it is up to us as the cast of this production to write its conclusion.
Between the heart wrenching screams, and the wretched smoke that caused my eyes to tear, my eyes became fixiated upon a young man. No more than five years younger than myself, the man was currently behind a post, dodging the bullets coming his way, while shooting a few back himself. His eyes gave me their backstory. The young man was in love, and torn away from the girl of his fantasies, most likely due to the battle in front of us. Now, here he stood, upon the eggshells of fragile dreams, having to watch more people he loved be torn away from him, and facing the fear that he might be torn away from them as well. I pity the man. Not much for his sake, but more for mine. My story is very much similar with the wife waiting for me at home.
Before I know it, the man is shot down by an officer behind me. I turn to see what has happened since I fell into the man's backstory, and am surprised by the results. Below me, a sea of bodies collect at my feet. It is surprising how much damage has been caused in such a short amount of time. Of course, time is elasped in plays. Not everything can fit into the running time. Another soldier yells to me "Beaumont! Come on! There's another one up here." I shake away the emotions that were unneeded to the scene at hand, and follow my fellow soldiers up into the building.
The last man standing looked out the window, most likely overcome by the vision of his attempts that we have managed to foil. For a split second, I almost feel bad for the man. As he looks back at us, guns in hand, my commanding officer sneers, "I will give you one last chance boy. Surrender, and we will go easy on you."
Before the blonde man can answer, a stumbling up the stairs catches everyone's attention. Appearing before us, a disheveled man with crow colored hair approached the man. I couldn't make out much of what he was saying, but I did hear him ask the man, "Do you permit it?"
The man took the other's hand in his, and yelled out, "VIVE LA REPUBLIQUE!" Then, almost as soon as he spoke, the bullets fired. It was sad twist to things. For as long as the leader had most likely planned and fought for this, he falls back into the window with great speed.
"Beaumont," my officer yells as everyone piles out, "pull that body out of the window."
I nod, and head towards the window. As soon as the leader's body is back into the room, I look out over the window. The window which he had looked through before his demise.
Damn, if this was the world I was looking over before my death, the grim reaper would be a welcome friend.
