Disclaimer: I hate to disappoint you, butI don't own Les Miserables.

The smoke engulfs me. I can hear gunshots, so near and, yet, so distant. I am not myself – I am a million miles away from the blast of gunpowder and yet dangerously close to that last bullet. My friends cry out as they fall one by one; Courfeyrac is hit in the chest, Combferre in the neck, Joly collapses in a haze of smoke and Feuilly's body falls to the ground in a graceful arc. Soon, I too will fall. A bullet will strike me, perhaps in my head, perhaps in my heart – I will not know until I am hit. But I cannot die until I find Eponine among the bodies.

And there are so many bodies. Not just those of my friends, but those of the National Guard. All are my brothers, and all lie dead in the streets, cursed to die in mud and grime like dogs and beggars. I stumbled over Bahorel and keep going. Joly lies nearby; he was a poet who dreamed of beauty and yet died in the worst sort of squalor. God, it is hard to breathe here. A bullet strikes the wall just over my head and I hit the ground. But I do not stop moving.

I never knew she loved me. For so long she was only the daughter of the man who lived next door to my humble little flat; that crook, Thénardier. She was my friend. She waited to talk to me when I came home from school and she did everything she could to see that I was happy. My thanks to her was falling in love with Cosette.

Yes, my dear 'Ponine was a true friend. More so than even Courfeyrac and the others who led me to my death at the barricade. She followed me to the barricade and saved my life at the expense of her own. How could I not have cared for her?

I knew that something was wrong when she followed me. Were she nothing more than a friend to me, she would have begged me not to go, implored that I use my common sense and realize how miserably outnumbered we were and understand that the National Guard would annihilate us. She would not have followed me.

She would have gone to Cosette, my lovely, darling Cosette who sat in her room and prepared to flee with her father to England as I marched to my death, my rifle in hand, never having fired a shot in my life. I should have been the first to fall.

I will never forget the moment when I first saw Eponine at the barricade. I mistook her for a boy and perhaps a spy. It wasn't until I saw her eyes under that dirty hat that she wore that I began to scold her for coming. I gave her a letter for Cosette and sent her away. I never imagined that I would hurt her more by doing so. I prided myself for a moment on having saved her life. I had given her a reason and an excuse to vanish not just from the barricade but from everything. Her parents would assume she had died, and she could start a new, happier life. I prayed that her life would be filled with all the happiness that I would miss when I was dead.

But I see her now, not dead, although I cradled her in my arms just minutes earlier as she died. I see her standing just a few feet before me. I throw my gun aside and run to her. I catch her in my arms and she jerks away.

"Leave me alone!" she screams. I recoil and step back as a particularly loud gunshot is fired. I can see the gun aimed at my chest, but Eponine steps in front of it and I watch helplessly as she crumples to the ground. I rush to her and gather her small body in my arms, holding her tight as blood begins to seep through her coat.

"Eponine," I whisper over and over again until my hoarse whisper has become an anguished scream. Her body goes limp in my arms. "Eponine!"

I wake with a start. Cosette is awake as well, her arms wrapped around her small body as she stands by the window, gazing out onto the moonlit Paris night. She turns to me as I open my eyes.

"Did you say something, Marius?" she whispers. I can hear the tears staining her voice and can almost see her shining eyes as she watches me from the shadows.

"No…" I mutter, although I know that I must have been talking in my sleep. "No, I didn't say anything." I realize that I am drenched in sweat and move to get out of bed.

Cosette continues to stare at me, but says nothing.

"I was only a nightmare," I continue quietly, more to ease my own mind than hers. "Another dream of the fight." I stand. "I'm going to get a glass of water. Would you like anything?"

She shakes her head.

"No, thank you," she whispers. As I am about to close our bedroom door behind me, she adds, "Marius, my love," thinking that I will not hear her. I wish that I didn't.

I know that while I am getting my glass of water, Cosette will lock the door, return to bed, and cry herself to sleep. I will return to find the door locked, and spend the rest of the night pacing my study. Morning will come too quickly, and my grandfather will seek me out to ask why I am up so soon. I will tell him that I was having nightmares of the barricade, and he will lecture me until breakfast about the dangers of challenging the government. Cosette and I will eat a nice breakfast in the garden, exchanging pleasantries of love and act as though nothing has happened even if my hands shake as I reach for my knife and her eyes are still tinged with red from crying.

This will happen again, more long nights spent in my study, more dreams of gunshots and the smell of rotting bodies, but the space between them will slowly lengthen. Eventually, my dreams will cease altogether and Cosette will forget the first troublesome months of our marriage. I will not.

I can never stop reliving the barricades. I can never forget my friends who gave their lives for what they believed. I can never forget the girl who sacrificed her life for mine and died in my arms. I can never forget Eponine.