Enjolras isn't a statue, really (solo_patria) wrote in valarnet, @ 2013-05-31 11:13:00 |
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Current mood: | depressed |
It seems I have returned to this strange place I am beginning to slowly understand as my body remembers it, but not my mind, and I can accomplish tasks by memory more than by an understanding of their workings. While I am here, there is much to do, to improve on the works that the man I am in this lifetime has written, to ensure that Les Amis are well enough and do not have need of those things I cannot give them, but this time I find that I cannot.
That I am put in mind of what occurred in that life that is beyond me now, as I am when I speak of the dreams with one of Les Amis who does not remember entirely who he is, or of the events on our barricade. Perhaps there is some correlation to this. I am informed, by the window of the computer that the anniversary of our failure at revolution will take place in a week's time.
This, then? Does the body remember such when the brain is never sure of where it may be at any given moment? There are so many things that I would speak of should I have the breath to do it, to write, should I be able to find the strength as I must will myself to do before the time has passed, to remember all of Les Amis and the roles we played there, but the unfairness of what happened nags at me.
Last night I dreamed of my mistress, of whispering her name among the sorrows and the pain of the barricade and knowing that I was dying for her, as I had always known that I might do. And I would die for her again a thousand times in this life, and this world, changed though it is. I jump at the chance to prove myself to her again, and to the people for whom it means all. My Patria. My mistress and my mother whom I hold above all else.
I had carried three dreams with me through our rebellion, and at the end of it, I had accomplished two. I died for her as I was always meant to do, my destiny completed and an example left to inspire those who came after us, not many years later, and I helped Grantaire to find Patria's love and light and I cannot regret those things. The last I did not manage and while I understand that it was not my fault that we were all killed there and feel no guilt about it... Three of Les Amis, my faithful lieutenants were never meant to die there, though I knew we all faced it equally and have remembered, in such vivid detail, the moment I knew that all was lost. It was as unfair then as life has ever been, as unfair as the world we fought against that they should fall and it tears at me still to know what came and to recall it in my own eyes.
Combeferre, with his passion for education, with his understanding of humanity and the need for progress to move at the speed the people needed was meant to lead those who survived out of the revolution, to rebuild that world, and to guide the people, and later the world in becoming not only free but as enlightened as Jean Jacques would have wished.
Feuilly who embraced the people in the absence of anyone else, who strove to make a better world in Poland, who would have wished that everyone be educated equally, at least provided access to it, and that all the peoples of the world should live in the same freedom was meant to survive also. To carry on in that work and to ensure that those things we had worked for happened. To be the man to teach the workers, to improve their life directly, to have that chance at being one of those who had changed everything. As much an inspiration to them as he had been to us.
Jehan, already dead when I realized, with his courage in all things, his inability to hate and fierce ability to defend that which he loved with the very actions that he hated, who saw the beauty in the bits of the world none others of us would have found, and who lived so fervently and captured so much of that world in his words was meant to tell our story. To let it be that thing which helped explain what we had done, or to inspire others should we fall.
The three of them were never to be taken as I was, and as I knew Bahorel would. They were meant to make the world we'd fought for and to lead that way and that they were not given the chance to do it is more painful than anything else, save losing all of them.
Is railing at the unfairness of life considered childish when I have no recourse for it? Yes, perhaps. But I know not what else I might do now.