|Children of the Barricade, Children of her Heart
Author: Demibelrose PM
A PoV of Mère Hucheloup, the frustrated mother and keeper of the Les Amis de ABC.Rated: Fiction T - English - Family/Angst - Courfeyrac - Words: 644 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 2 - Published: 02-02-13 - Status: Complete - id: 8970415
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Did you see them
Going off to fight?
Children of the barricade
Who didn't last the night?
Did you see them
Lying where they died?
Someone used to cradle them
And kiss them when they cried.
Did you see them lying side by side?
Who will wake them?
No one ever will.
No one ever told them
That a summer day can kill.
They were schoolboys
Never held a gun…
Fighting for a new world
That would rise up like the sun.
Where's that new world now the fighting's done?
Nothing ever will.
Every year another brat, another mouth to fill.
Same old story. What's the use of tears?
What's the use of praying if there's nobody who hears?
Turning, turning, turning, turning, turning
Through the years.
Turning, turning, turning through the years
Minutes into hours and the hours into years.
Nothing changes. Nothing ever can.
Round and round the roundabout and back where you began.
Round and round and back where you began!
They were school boys, never held a gun.
"Mère Hucheloup" Courfeyrec said with his usual cheeky grin. "We will avenge you." The losses she suffered throughout their occupation were horrid. Her good pots and pans, all the thread for their banners, her rugs nearly in tatters. The boys did what they could to console her, but they were children, not yet men. A kiss on the cheek or on the top of the hand was a pretty thing, but it didn't replace her broken vases.
Someone used to cradle them, and kiss them when they cried
Every night she would stay up, even after they had all left, or fallen asleep over some table or another and repair their pins., and their flags, and make sure each boy had a blanket over his shoulders if they were asleep. Only then would she finally blow out her candles and slip into bed, cold at this point with lack of another body to provide heat.
Who will wake them?
The day of Lamarque's funeral, she helped them prepare their guns, making sure they were ready and presentable for their revolution. They peppered her with kisses as she rolled her eyes and pushed them away, telling them to get back to work after she straightened their pin.
Did you see them, going off to fight?
She waved goodbye as they marched off, her schoolboys turned soldiers. She stayed with the one's who stayed behind, keeping them company and laughing as they poked fun at her, as a young man would do.
No one ever told them, that a summer day can kill.
And then there was the commotion. Grantaire placing his kiss upon her lips to steal her last chair. The shooting, all the shooting. Their screams, on both sides. Her heart shattered with every bang of the cannon. And then the shouting. They were shouting for her. "Open the door! Please!" And all she could do was shut her window, block it out. Her schoolboys turned soldiers. She didn't sleep that night, even after the shooting stopped. But she did open her window. She saw the red flag…hanging next to her leader. After that…she doesn't remember.
Somehow, she ended up in the streets where her boys fought, along with the other women washing and scrubbing the blood from the cobblestones. Her fingers were as red as the flag that they left hanging. And she couldn't help the memory of a young pair of lips brushing across her knuckles. A hint of stubble against her cheek. A strong laugh at her mock frustration. Her schoolboys turned soldiers, the children of the barricade, the children of her heart.
She washed their blood away with her fingers red as blood, and her useless tears wetting her scrubbing brush.