Gavroche's Flag

Gavroche, a young boy of just 10, hurried through the streets, dodging through crowds in his haste to reach his destination. The news he carried, a tragedy in the eyes of every one of Paris' poor, made faint tears blur his eyes, causing him to stumble slightly. Still he continued, quickly swiping his eyes on his dirty, ragged gloves.

Gavroche barrelled into the Cafe Musain. The students all looked up at the sound of the door opening, and smiled distractedly as they saw who had entered. Gavroche, with his endless energy and cheeky grin, was a much loved member of Les Amis De L'ABC, always singing and laughing and joking, bringing cheer into the cafe. Today, however, his expression was sad and desperate. None of the students noticed much, returning almost immediately to their plans and discussions.

"Listen!" Gavroche called. No-one heard, and they continued talking. "Listen to me!"

He paused for a second, but still no-one responded. The boy clambered up onto a table and yelled as loud as he could. "LISTEN EVERYBODY!"

The cafe fell silent, everyone turning with shocked expressions to regard the small child upon his table, who panted slightly from the effort used to produce such a loud sound from such a small pair of lungs. Eventually, he managed to force out the words.

"General Lamarque is... dead." His small body shuddered as he acknowledged the statement aloud, and his breath caught. The students stared at him for a moment longer, before Enjolras spoke.

"Lamarque is dead... Lamarque... his death is the hour of fate! The people's man; his death is the sign we await!"

Gavroche didn't stand around to listen to Enjolras' talk of fate and signs. He was already a homeless boy, a street urchin, and life was hard enough as it was; without Lamarque it could only get worse. He jumped from the table and attempted to run out, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder; he looked up to see Grantaire. Of the students involved in Les Amis De L'ABC, Grantaire was the only one who ever paid much compassionate attention to Gavroche.

The youngster looked up at the man for a moment more, before he latched himself to his leg and stood, staring forlornly at the wall, Grantaire's hand still on his shoulder.

=X=

After a few hours of planning, which Gavroche had paid attention to after his period of worry, Enjolras stood to speak.

"So, who is going to join us in building the barricades, and stand to help us fight?" Enjolras asked. Every one of the students raised their hands, although it took Marius a moment to pull out of his daydreams. Gavroche also raised his arm in the air, as high as he could.

Although a few of the men looked at him, their expressions reluctant to agree and showing their thoughts of 'the barricade is no place for a child', no-one argued. Gavroche was as much a part of Les Amis De L'ABC as Combeferre, Courfreyac, and any of the others. He had attended their meetings for years, at first just a little boy playing around with older men, gazing at them in wonder as they talked of revolution, making the world a better place, helping the people of Paris, and growing into their youngest member, their friend, their brother in the cause. Gavroche, one of the class of people they all talked of helping, was completely on their side, 100% with them, willing to support them.

Enjolras held up a large, red piece of fabric, and everyone rose, cheering, singing.

"Do you hear the people sing?
Singing the song of angry men
It is the music of the people who will not be slaves again!
When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There's is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!"

Gavroche's young voice sang loud and clear, the strongest individual voice of the group because of how his voice, higher in pitch than the rest due to his youthfulness, contrasted against the groups'. He was pulled up onto a cart with Enjolras as they paraded the streets, hands pumping the air enthusiastically.

=X=

Gavroche appeared at the barricades as they were being constructed, waving a small red flag. It was a rectangular piece of red rag tied onto an abandoned stick which might have once held a different flag, and he laughed as it fluttered in the wind. The students at the barricade smiled as they watched the youth dash around, helping here and there, brandishing his slightly tatty flag as if it was the most wonderful thing in the world. His high spirits and bounding energy lifted the atmosphere of the barricades. Gavroche rapidly became a beacon of hope to the students, his happy singing cheering everyone up.

The little boy regularly poked fun at Marius; the youngest student wasn't completely with them in the real world, a dopey grin on his face as he stared up into nothingness. When he was spoken to, he stared at the person who had addressed him in a daze for a minute, before pulling himself to reality just long enough to answer. Enjolras especially was getting irritated, but watching the curly-haired man being taunted by a boy half his age and barely half his height brought a smirk to everyone's faces.

"Marius is away with the fairies again I see." Gavroche commented. Marius didn't notice him.

"Go' a girl on yer mind, eh?"

Marius' eyes looked to Gavroche at the word girl, and he nodded slowly.

"Wouldn' be the one I saw you bump inta when you wos with 'Ponine a few days ago, would i'?"

"Yes, that's her. Cosette..." Marius' attention was again drawn to his imagination. Gavroche made a 'tsk' noise with his tongue.

"Sounds and looks like a child's doll she does." He muttered, then he grinned mischievously. "I think you oughta be a bi' more realistic in yer taste for girls, Marius. Y' hardly stand a chance."

The students within earshot chuckled lowly at the comment, and the look on Marius' face as he was dropped harshly to Earth by the offhand insult. His cheeks went red, and he stared silently at Gavroche, a mixture of embarrassment, hurt and mild anger in his gaze. Gavroche stared back up at him, all innocence. For a minute they had a stare-off, before Marius turned away, trying to continue what he'd been doing before.

"I wos jus' kiddin' Marius. I'm sure she's plenty inta ya. She got the same soppy look on her face as you did, making all love eyes a' each-otha. I thinks yer wots called infatua'ed." The boy smiled, patting Marius' shoulder before darting off elsewhere. Marius glanced over his shoulder after him, and even he couldn't help but smile fondly and shake his head.

=X=

Gavroche watched as a man, dressed in the clothes of a revolutionary, climbed over the barricades. The face struck him as familiar somehow. As the man walked over to Enjolras and started talking to him Gavroche studied him, flag tucked under his arm like a police-man's baton, circling round to get a view from every angle. Some students noticed Gavroche's scrutiny, and took interest, wondering what the boy was seeing. The man's eyes flickered to him occasionally, slightly unnerved.

"...hit us from... the right."

"Liar." Gavroche declared loudly. Everyone turned to face him, including the nameless man. When Gavroche stepped out of the shadowed corner he'd stood in, arms crossed and red flag fluttering over his shoulder, the man blanched slightly.

"Good evenin' dear Inspector, lovely evenin' my dear." He said sarcastically in a high, singsong voice. The men watching now had suspicious looks on their faces as they regarded the 'Inspector'. "I know this man, my friends; 'is name's Inspector Javert." Gavroche exclaimed triumphantly, his tone turning to accusation and disgust at Javert's title, and he pointed the end of his flag in the inspector's face. By now everyone was glaring at the man, who looked around, realising he'd been caught out. "So don' believe a word he says, cause none of i's true. This only goes to show what li'l people can do."

Javert glared at the small boy as he broke out into one of his favourite songs, gesturing around with his little flag.

"Cause little people know
When little people figh'
We may look easy pickin's bu' we've go' some bite!
So never kick a dog, because i's just a pup,
We figh' like twen'y armies an' we won' give up,
So ya be'er run for cover when the pup grows up!" Gavroche grinned, finishing off by throwing his fisted hand into the air, and stepping back to stand beside Grantaire.

"Well done little Gavroche, you're the top of the class!" the man praised, clapping Gavroche's back. The little boy smiled and nodded. He watched as the students tied Javert to a chair in the cafe, and stepped back out onto the barricades.

=X=

As the day wore on Gavroche could be heard singing again, still waving his flag enthusiastically. No-one knew whether it was a song he'd heard, or one he'd made up, but it was his signature tune, one perfectly suited to him. Life on the streets didn't provide a fitting diet for a growing boy, and as a result Gavroche was much smaller than most children his age, making him look a year or two younger than he actually was. Still, everyone knew this was no reason to mess with the kid; he was a tough little urchin, who could hold his own against a man.

Evening drew in, and with it another figure clambered up the barricades. There was a shot, and Gavroche heard it from inside the cafe. He peered around the door, but couldn't immediately see someone who had been hurt, so he returned inside.

Eventually, he noticed a crowd gathering in one spot, and picking his flag up, he trotted over to see what had gotten everyone's attention. At first he failed to pick up on the sombre atmosphere and sad faces.

"Wot's goin'... on..." he asked, voice trailing off as he felt the heaviness of tragedy falling over him. He pushed forwards, trying to get to the front. He saw Marius crouched on the floor, over someone, cradling them gently to his chest. He saw the blood on the jacket and shirt, the hair falling, blood-matted, on the shoulders. And then he saw the face.

"'Ponine..." he whispered. He watched with large, sad eyes as his sister confessed her love for Marius, watched as her energy ebbed, eyes closing, body weakening, until her head fell back, her arms falling from their grip on Marius' shirt, limp and lifeless.

Marius' anguished cries pierced though Gavroche's chest, and he hung his head, eyes closing to prevent the tears from escaping.

The red flag dropped from his hand and to the floor.

=X=

The morning brought a new lease of life to the barricades. Although Marius' eyes had grief behind them, they also showed determination.

"We fight here in her name. She will not die in vain, she will not be betrayed."

Just as Marius fought, Gavroche brought his wild spirit to brighten up the spirits of everyone there. He would help Les Amis as much as he could, whether it be trying his best at fighting, fixing up parts of the barricade, or just running around shouting encouragement, and he'd stick with them till the end, even if it mean the end of him as well.

The red flag once again flew in his hand, the colour brightened by its clean in the refreshing rain. The patches of dirt were no more, and the nicks in the fabric only served to add coarse beauty to the symbol of hope, showing that damage and wear could not damage the hope in a better tomorrow, for everyone.

Noon was drawing close when he heard Enjolras, Marius, and the old man called Monsieur Fauchelevant (that was what he'd thought he'd heard), shouting about ammunition. Marius was trying to get past Enjolras, and they pushed each other, faces angry. Monsieur Fauchelevant stopped them.

"Don't let him go, he's no more than a boy. I am old, and have nothing to fear."

Gavroche looked down at them from his position halfway up the barricade. He didn't feel he'd done much to help, not as much as he could; this was his chance.

"You need somebody quicker; I volunteer!" He shouted, and scrambled up the barricade.

"Come back, Gavroche, don't you dare!" Enjolras called.

"Someone pull him down at once!" Grantaire cried, trying himself to climb after the boy, but he was too fast.

"Look at me; I'm almost there!" Gavroche said triumphantly. Just before he dropped down he stuck his flag at the top of the barricade, so it was still erect and fluttering. Then he was on the other side, amongst the bodies of dead men. He heard the student's soft calls of 'Gavroche!' but he didn't respond. He had to help.

It was eerily quiet. The mist and deathly silence unnerved Gavroche, and his breath came slightly quicker. He swallowed, and sang quietly to himself as he collected the ammunition in his little bag.

"Cause little people know...
When little people figh'...
We may look easy pickin's, bu' we've go'...some...bite..."

BANG!

Gavroche gasped and dived behind the body he was collecting from. The bullet missed him, and he heard the worried murmurs of Les Amis. He didn't dare look back at them, in case it made him completely lose his nerve.

"So never kick a dog...
Because it's just a pup-"
BANG!

"Ah!" Gavroche cried as the shot hit, piercing through his shoulder with a burning pain. He collapsed to his knees for a moment, holding the wound gingerly as he fought back tears.

"'Vroche! Get back!"

"Gavroche!"

"Come back here!"

"That's enough; climb back over."

If Gavroche was one thing, it was stubborn, and thorough. He wasn't going to go back until he'd done all he could. And he knew he couldn't do much more. Still he went on, valiantly, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he collected the last few bullets.

"We'll figh' like... twen'y armies, and we won't...give...up..."

Gavroche threw his bag over to the top of the barricade. Enjolras caught it, and gestured for him to come back. Grantaire was beside him, looking down with fear in his eyes for his little friend.

But Gavroche knew he wouldn't make it back. He took a deep, shaking breath, and looked once more into Grantaire's eyes. The man saw what was going to happen before it did, and shook his head slowly. Gavroche looked away, slowly and defiantly rising up.

"So you'd be'er run for cover...
When the pup... grows-"

BANG!

A small thud. A gasp from the barricades.

Gavroche's flag fluttered, making a small sound in the sorrowful silence.

=X=

The battle was over, and the revolutionaries had lost. Every one of Les Amis De L'ABC lay dead on the barricade; Enjolras, slumped down the front, his large red flag torn to pieces by the many bullets that pierced it; Grantaire and Combeferre, caught by their legs and arms, dangled from the structure; Courfreyac, Joly, Feuilly and the rest were lying or slumped around, some with guns still in their hands, red blossoming on their shirts and heads. Only Marius was absent from the body count, having been dragged off by Valjean.

Still, amongst the grey of the tragic scene, the small, bright red flag, left atop the barricade by Gavroche, continued to move in the soft wind. It had sustained no damage in the battle. Even when Enjolras's flag had been shot to pieces, still Gavroche's flag remained, still broadcasting hope to everyone, even Les Amis in their final moments.

They died with their eyes on the flag, the reminder of the bright-spirited boy who had cheered them on, who had given his life to try and help them, and the last colour they saw was the red, the colour of the world that was supposed to dawn.

And it did. For each of Les Amis, their perfect world arrived to them, brought by the laughter and singing of the small brunette boy, his cap still dirty, his clothes still tattered, but no wounds, no blood, his smile as bright as ever.

And as the sun set, Gavroche's flag gave a triumphant flutter, as if the spirit of the boy had just waved it above his head.