Fiction: Revolution
Revolution
Francis sat in the very back of the tavern as his friends made plans for revolution. Francis was terrified. He agreed with his friends' ideals but he had a brother to look after. What would happen to Charlie if something happened to him? There was no one else to take Charlie if Francis were to die.
But what was he to say to when Charlie was older and asking about the revolution? That he was too scared? That he wanted to fight but it was Charlie's fault he didn't? That he had a chance to make a difference but stood aside?
Then there was Peter. Peter with his brown curls and chocolate eyes. Peter stood at the front of the room, subtly controlling everything while letting everyone speak. Peter was the most brash, the most vocal of all of them. How was Francis supposed to look Peter in the eye ever again if he stayed away from the revolutionaries?
Francis felt his heart shatter and his stomach dive as plans were made to build the barricades the next day. The meeting broke up shortly after that decision was made. No one stayed for very long, everyone had places to be on what might be their very last night.
Francis stayed watching as Peter shook hands, clapped backs and had a word with all who left. Finally, the last person left and Peter turned to Francis with a smile.
“Francis, what are you still doing here? Go home to Charlie.”
“Peter...” Francis swallowed, “The fighting...Charlie...”
Peter laid a hand on Francis' shoulder, “Oh Francis. You can't think I'd expect you to fight? You must stay with Charlie. Someone must stay behind with those we fight for. I made it known that you would watch all the children tomorrow.”
“What the others must think of me, to hide amongst the young.”
“No Francis.” Peter's finger forced Francis' chin up so Francis had to look him in the eye, “The others know you have the most important job of all. If we fail tomorrow, you alone will be there to protect their loved ones. You will get everyone out of the city and away. You, alone, will save the reason we fight.”
Peter's fingers moved to brush Francis' cheek, his thumb brushed over Francis' lips. “You must live Francis. You are the reason I fight.”
Francis gasped as lips met his own.
*
Francis tried to swallow the lump in his throat. The single lantern left more shadows than light in the basement filled with trembling and crying children. Francis did his best to keep everyone calm. Never had he been prouder of Charlie who stayed calm and held onto the youngest babe.
No matter how he tried to keep his mind on the children before him, Francis' thoughts kept returning to his friends who were now dying to the sounds of guns and cannons that filtered through the thick walls and into the basement.
Francis cringed at a particularly loud boom. What would he find when silence finally fell? Would he find Peter waiting with a grin, or would it be a line of bodies that were once his nearest and dearest? Would it be a time of celebration, or a mad rush to safety that left no time for grief? Would he be left alone with no one but the children?
Francis reached down to pick up a girl clinging to his trousers. He hugged the girl tightly as she hid her face in his shoulder. He hushed her and beckoned the other children to gather close. Softly, quietly, he began to sing his mother's favourite song.
“In the rain, the pavement shines like silver.
All the lights are misty in the river.
In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight.
And all I see is him and me, forever and forever.”
Hours later, silence fell. In Francis' mind, the silence rang louder than all the noises of the fighting that had come before. Francis waited. He knew that leaving the basement too soon could be just as dangerous as leaving in the middle of the fighting. He longed to know what had become of his friends. He ached to find Peter. But he had to protect the children. They were more important at the moment.
The sound of footsteps on the floor above had Francis diving to turn off the lantern. Even the children fell silent and held their breaths. A scrapping sounded then a clanking signified that someone was grabbing the handle to the trap door that led to the basement.
Francis stepped up to the ladder and pushed the children as far into the corner as he could. He pulled the gun from the holster at his hip for the first time and cocked the pin. A crack of light showed that as door lifted, Francis pointed his gun up.
The door flung open and cracked against the floor, but no face showed.
“Come Francis.” A voice called from above.
Francis slowly lowered his gun but held off from putting the safety on.
“Come, it's safe.” This time the voice was joined by a grinning face.
“Peter” Francis sighed.
“Yes Francis. It's I. Come, it's safe.”
Francis turned and ushered the children to the ladder before him. Hands reached down to help the children up. Francis could hear the joyful shouts and the plaintive cries as the children were reunited with their families or found there was no one waiting for them.
Charlie was the last child to climb the ladder. Francis hugged Charlie tightly before pushing him onto the ladder and following him up. Familiar hands grabbed Francis' as he reached the top. A tug helped him up the last few inches and he was surrounded by strong arms and held against a strong chest.
Francis breathed deeply and clung tight for a long moment. He finally pushed away to look around him. There were more survivors than he feared, but too many of his friends would never been seen again.
A hand tugged at his own. He turned back to the man beside him. A hand tilted his face up and lips met his own.
A cheer went up as Peter kissed Francis in front of everyone.
Note: Song lyrics are from On My Own from the Broadway show Les Miserables english lyrics written by Herbert Kretzmer and James Fenton
Francis sat in the very back of the tavern as his friends made plans for revolution. Francis was terrified. He agreed with his friends' ideals but he had a brother to look after. What would happen to Charlie if something happened to him? There was no one else to take Charlie if Francis were to die.
But what was he to say to when Charlie was older and asking about the revolution? That he was too scared? That he wanted to fight but it was Charlie's fault he didn't? That he had a chance to make a difference but stood aside?
Then there was Peter. Peter with his brown curls and chocolate eyes. Peter stood at the front of the room, subtly controlling everything while letting everyone speak. Peter was the most brash, the most vocal of all of them. How was Francis supposed to look Peter in the eye ever again if he stayed away from the revolutionaries?
Francis felt his heart shatter and his stomach dive as plans were made to build the barricades the next day. The meeting broke up shortly after that decision was made. No one stayed for very long, everyone had places to be on what might be their very last night.
Francis stayed watching as Peter shook hands, clapped backs and had a word with all who left. Finally, the last person left and Peter turned to Francis with a smile.
“Francis, what are you still doing here? Go home to Charlie.”
“Peter...” Francis swallowed, “The fighting...Charlie...”
Peter laid a hand on Francis' shoulder, “Oh Francis. You can't think I'd expect you to fight? You must stay with Charlie. Someone must stay behind with those we fight for. I made it known that you would watch all the children tomorrow.”
“What the others must think of me, to hide amongst the young.”
“No Francis.” Peter's finger forced Francis' chin up so Francis had to look him in the eye, “The others know you have the most important job of all. If we fail tomorrow, you alone will be there to protect their loved ones. You will get everyone out of the city and away. You, alone, will save the reason we fight.”
Peter's fingers moved to brush Francis' cheek, his thumb brushed over Francis' lips. “You must live Francis. You are the reason I fight.”
Francis gasped as lips met his own.
*
Francis tried to swallow the lump in his throat. The single lantern left more shadows than light in the basement filled with trembling and crying children. Francis did his best to keep everyone calm. Never had he been prouder of Charlie who stayed calm and held onto the youngest babe.
No matter how he tried to keep his mind on the children before him, Francis' thoughts kept returning to his friends who were now dying to the sounds of guns and cannons that filtered through the thick walls and into the basement.
Francis cringed at a particularly loud boom. What would he find when silence finally fell? Would he find Peter waiting with a grin, or would it be a line of bodies that were once his nearest and dearest? Would it be a time of celebration, or a mad rush to safety that left no time for grief? Would he be left alone with no one but the children?
Francis reached down to pick up a girl clinging to his trousers. He hugged the girl tightly as she hid her face in his shoulder. He hushed her and beckoned the other children to gather close. Softly, quietly, he began to sing his mother's favourite song.
“In the rain, the pavement shines like silver.
All the lights are misty in the river.
In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight.
And all I see is him and me, forever and forever.”
Hours later, silence fell. In Francis' mind, the silence rang louder than all the noises of the fighting that had come before. Francis waited. He knew that leaving the basement too soon could be just as dangerous as leaving in the middle of the fighting. He longed to know what had become of his friends. He ached to find Peter. But he had to protect the children. They were more important at the moment.
The sound of footsteps on the floor above had Francis diving to turn off the lantern. Even the children fell silent and held their breaths. A scrapping sounded then a clanking signified that someone was grabbing the handle to the trap door that led to the basement.
Francis stepped up to the ladder and pushed the children as far into the corner as he could. He pulled the gun from the holster at his hip for the first time and cocked the pin. A crack of light showed that as door lifted, Francis pointed his gun up.
The door flung open and cracked against the floor, but no face showed.
“Come Francis.” A voice called from above.
Francis slowly lowered his gun but held off from putting the safety on.
“Come, it's safe.” This time the voice was joined by a grinning face.
“Peter” Francis sighed.
“Yes Francis. It's I. Come, it's safe.”
Francis turned and ushered the children to the ladder before him. Hands reached down to help the children up. Francis could hear the joyful shouts and the plaintive cries as the children were reunited with their families or found there was no one waiting for them.
Charlie was the last child to climb the ladder. Francis hugged Charlie tightly before pushing him onto the ladder and following him up. Familiar hands grabbed Francis' as he reached the top. A tug helped him up the last few inches and he was surrounded by strong arms and held against a strong chest.
Francis breathed deeply and clung tight for a long moment. He finally pushed away to look around him. There were more survivors than he feared, but too many of his friends would never been seen again.
A hand tugged at his own. He turned back to the man beside him. A hand tilted his face up and lips met his own.
A cheer went up as Peter kissed Francis in front of everyone.
Note: Song lyrics are from On My Own from the Broadway show Les Miserables english lyrics written by Herbert Kretzmer and James Fenton