Hey guys! So, I stopped my other story because it really pissed me off. If anyone wants to take it off my hands and make it better than the crap (Yeah, I said it. It really was crap, though. Sorry for making you read that *shivers*) it is, feel free. Just leave it in a review or whatever. Or pm me. Whatever works for you. Anyhoo, I thought of this story and it's a lot easier to write and I WILL KEEP UP WITH THIS. I will update weekly, maybe more if I get good reviews. But, I will finish this. I don't know exactly how long it'll be, so don't expect like one hundred chapters. But it'll be longer than ten.
Pairings: Eventual Eponine/Marius; Enjolras/Eponine
Disclaimer: I totally own Les Mis. *Enters ghost of Victor Hugo with a pen threatening to completely erase the friends of the ABC.* NO! I DON'T OWN IT! This is more of the musical-verse, but there are some aspects of the book. Read and review! Instructive critism is welcome, but please no flames.
Enjolras never got to finish his smile as he felt the eight bullets pierce his body. As his final breath left him, he felt his best friend fall to his feet in a heap. He felt no pain as he died, for it was too fast a death for him to comprehend what had happened.
He looked up from the bright white stone as the faintest of smiles left his lips. Enjolras was at his final destination- the Utopia. The pearly white gates of Heaven loomed above his head in a regal manner. An imposing sight, it was. Being in such a beautiful place caused Enjolras to remember where he had just come from, a place that was a polar opposite of the magnificent garden before him. He had been at a dark, bloody barricade and now stood at a bright, spotless Paradise. He looked at his body, expecting to be in new clothing, but was shocked to see his still bloodied red and gold vest and bruised body.
Not knowing the proper protocol for the situation, for Enjolras had never been dead before, he walked up to the gate and tried to pull it open. When that didn't work, he pushed it. The gate was opened and he saw the wonders of Heaven. There was a flowing river of milk and honey, and glorious mountains that seemed to shake with praise for their creator. The hills looked as smooth as silk, and the homes looked to be made for kings! There were streets buzzing with people, and a man with a beautiful gold cloak greeting them. The man looked surreal, not like the others, no. The others had a sort of earthly beauty to them, a sort of imperfection about them. Not this man. And people thought that Enjolras had an unearthly beauty! This man seemed to be unreal, seemed to be untouched by the world and it's wonders. Who was this man? Enjolras took a few steps toward him, and waited as the man in gold walked to him.
"Ah! Lucian Victor Enjolras! Lovely to have you here. Welcome!" The golden man said warmly. It was not lost on Enjolras that this strange man knew his Christian name.
"Hello, monsieur. I don't mean to sound silly or forgetfull, but how do you know me? I don't believe we have met before." Enjolras looked at his surroundings again, still in awe of the absolute splender of it all.
"Oh, but we have, monsieur Enjolras! Many times have we crossed paths. I believe the first time was on the thirteenth of April in 1813." The man stated. He smiled at Enjolras, a look of glee in his eyes.
"But, monsieur, that was the day of my birth! Surely you don't believe that I can remember that!" Enjolras paled. Who was this man?
"Ah, but Lucian, I have been with you since the beginning! I watched you grow into the wonderful young man you've become. I watched you fall and return to your feet! I have been with you through it all, son!" The golden man smiled, almost blinding Enjolras' eyes from the sheer beauty. Surely this man couldn't be...
"You mean...but you can't be! Are you?" Enjolras spoke in a quiet voice, almost to himself.
"YES MY DEAR BOY!" The voice boomed joyfully, "I am who you think I am. I am the great I Am. Yes, yes I am." He started to laugh, "How great is that? I tell that to every person I welcome here and it never tires me! I can not wait til Jean Valjean finally enters those gates. I will ask him, 'who am I?' and I'll laugh. Oh, how I'll laugh! But, yes, Lucian, I am God. Welcome to my home."
Enjolras stared at his creator, absolutely speachless. How else could he respond besides being humbled by this great being? He looked down, unable to hide his shame. He felt as though he had failed the Lord by being unsuccessful at the barricade. He could feel the shame inside him like a knife (A/N: I couldn't help it. I just couldn't). He was a murderer. He had killed his friends, the ones who believed in him. He had sentenced them to death.
The Great I Am seemed to sense this and said, "You did what you could, Lucian. You tried, but sometimes the evil of the world will be stronger than the good. That doesn't mean you shouldn't try, and tried you did. Lucian, may I ask you something?"
Enjolras looked up, tears in his eyes, "Yes, Lord." He hung his head as another wave of emotion hit him.
"Why do you think yourself a killer?"
"Lord, I led them to battle. I led them to their deaths and never warned them. I was confident to the point of arrogance! I let them die! It's as though I almost wanted them to! I AM A MURDERER." Enjolras felt the tears spill down his cheeks. Tears for his fallen friends, tears for the defeated France, tears for himself.
The Lord lifted his head and wiped the tears from his child's cheek. "Lucian, this is no fault of your own. You had no knowledge of how that barricade would go. Would you like to stay here?"
"Lord, this is beautiful. I am in absolute awe of your world, but my heart is not here. My heart lies in Paris. My heart belongs with Patria. With my home." Enjolras answered honestly.
"I would like to offer you something, my child. I have seen the passion you hold for your people. I have seen your heart break with every tear that drops on the streets of France. I want you to go back. Just a few months, but to go back none the less. You won't remember much of what happened on this day, the fifth of June 1832, but you will remember enough to help you. I want you to try again. I want you to succeed. I want you to live and survive." The Lord looked at Enjolras, and smiled. "I'm sending you back now. You'll wake up in December of 1831. I wish you luck, son."
And with that, Lucian Victor Enjolras saw black.