Chapter Text
I told you that I try to see the colors first. Then I gave you you three colors to start the story. White, black, and red.
***FOR THOSE WHO MISSED IT***
With three colors, I told the story of the Book Thief.
I just need two this time. Red and black.
Black comes first. It's deep and absolute. The color surrounds the city and gobbles up the buildings, until the very streets are unrecognizable. The night is cold and a small boy shivers against the blackness. He's looking down at an older boy's body. The older boy's name is Michel, and I held his soul in my arms. Michel's only regret was leaving his brother and sister on their own. There's a little girl hanging on the small boy's pants.
***THE SMALL BOY***
He'll become a cynic with some rather self-destructive tendencies and - ironically - an unbreakable faith. He'll be important, so pay attention.
I only saw him twice, but it wasn't long in between. Our cynic was on this little planet for only 27 years.
You might sigh. What a waste. So very young.
His friends died younger than him
I was rather busy that day they all died, so much so that the small alleyway ran red with blood.
That brings us to the second color. Red. It's a color that can be thought of as a beginning - like sunrise. But in this case, it only signifies an end.
***A NOTE ON THE COLOR RED***
There was a red flag that hung out the window. It was still being held by a dead boy when the dawn came.
By the end of this story, the cynic and most of the others in this story will be dead. I don't want you to be shocked when it happens.
I held each soul in my hands. I tried to look only at the colors. Needless to say, I failed in that task.
The deaths in this will not be heroic. Many would say they were in vain. Perhaps they were. There will be ugly deaths and deaths that come quietly, like a little fall of rain, and there will be deaths of people far too young for me to claim them.
But if you are willing, I will tell you the story of a cynic who believed. I will tell you the story of Grantaire.