A young boy sat by the base of the weather-worn elephant statue in the park, propping his back up against the statue's dark wooden leg. The child was clad in dirtied, shanty clothing, hanging loosely on his bony figure, a too-big cap was pulled down over his thick mop of hair. Few people stopped to glance at him as they passed by; he was just another orphan, one of so many. A pitiful sight, but ordinary nonetheless. The child did not bother begging for food or a spare sou. Gavroche did not beg. And for once, he was not causing chaos among the streets. He was just sitting, quietly, crosslegged and almost sedated. In his sooty hands he held a branch of lilacs, handling them as gently as one would an infant. The lilacs were a beautiful milky white, their purity accentuated by the mud on Gavroche's palms. A few soft petals were taken up by the breeze, dancing past the boy's face and kissing his skin ever so delicatley.

"Ils sont si jolis."

Gavroche held the flowers near to his face, inhaling their faint aroma. They were like a dream, so distant, but so welcoming. The boy looked off into the grey sky with languish. The sky was always grey. Gavroche felt hot, bitter tears well up behind his eyes. The sky was always grey, his stomach was always empty, and his heart was always cold. No love for this young orphan. Love was something he had never known, something inconcievable for him. The only thing he had ever known was the harsh sting of winter and hate. Burning tears streaked his dirty cheeks, slithering down his chin and dripping onto the lilacs. Sniffing, the boy rubbed at his face with his tattered coat sleeve, leaving his skin red. Gavroche did not cry. He crushed the frail petals in his fist and tossed them to the ground, rising to his feet. Such beauty could not exsist in this wretched, Godforsaken place. It was something so horrible and unfathomable that it struck fury into the small boy. He had never known purity, nor innocence, nor anything the now-broken flowers held. More tears seeped out of his bloodshot eyes, but he wiped at them viciously and surpressed a sob. Gavroche did not cry.

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A/N: A little bit piece for Gavroche. Because he deserves it. Comments and critiques are appreciated.