A/N- The deleted scenes I mentioned earlier, I've decided to post at random intervals on my xanga site. In case anyone's wondering. This chapter was originally a lot more vague, like the last chapter of the Book, but I changed it for some reason. Hope it's not too random, just tying up loose ends. -begins boxing up characters to send to reviewers-
nebulia- -ties the bow on the Ryan box- Take good care of him, okay? He's very much based on my beloved Fluffy, so he's quite dear to me. Tchao then, and thanks for your lovely reviews!
Obsetress- Aw, thanks muchly. I feel so loved!
T-R-Us- Ah, yes, Miss Saigon is infamous for its ability to make one cry. Well, thank you for all the kind reviews you've written me! I'm glad my little story entertained some people.
elenlaurelin- Yes, I'm a bit sadistic, really, and I've developed a love for blood. Blame Peter Jackson. Don't worry, though, all goes well with our little Cosette!
H. Sibelius- Sorry, it's my blood obsession thing.I like death, blood, and angst... which is odd, seeing as I started as a parody writer... hm. Thanks for following the fic and reviewing, of course.
SuperCrazy01- Aw, come on! You know blood is cool! Huzzah for your sister and your TAC. Thanks for putting up with my angsty outpourings on here, and thanks especially for reviewing them.
Danica Enjolras- -drops the Rob box in the mail- Now make sure he eats at least three times a day and has a comfy place to sleep. I'm glad you popped back in before I was finished! Thanks for reading.
Mlle. Verity- I've elected to post the flashbacks at my xanga site (accessible through my profile, I b'lieve) and even if you aren't a xanga member you could use my chatterbox, which is open to anyone, if you wish to comment or just verify that you've read them. That way they won't confuse my story or funkify the ending, but I can still do something with them. I've that doesn't work for you, then I can look at other ideas, I s'pose.
We visit the graveyard every Sunday. Sometimes Meg comes, and her mom always cries. Every once in a while other people show up, and they always seem sad. Mostly it's just John and me.
I look at John, sitting by those five graves with his white hair and his wrinkled face, and I worry that there will soon be six stones in the corner of the old graveyard behind the church. He says that if anything ever happens to him, I'll live with Meg's family. I like Meg's parents, but I don't want anything to happen to John.
I called him 'Dad' once, and he got angry. I think it was the only time he didn't seem to make sense. He told me that I had a father already, and he was the best father any kid could ever hope for. I said that I didn't really remember him, except a tall man with dark hair and blue eyes. He asked if I remembered my mother and brother, and I told him I remembered a woman with brown hair, a boy, and blood. When I told him I didn't remember anything about them he seemed upset. Then he found some papers that my mom had written and he gave them to me. That's how I found out about my parents' lives.
I always thought that John did a good job raising me. He sent me to school, and I make pretty good grades. I was in the spring musical. When John found out they were doing "Les Misérables" he made me audition, as if I wasn't going to anyway. I always loved that story. I tried out for Eponine – I'm an alto – but I didn't get the role. They told me I didn't have enough experience. They cast me as an extra, although I did have a few lines during "At the End of the Day." I got to be the factory girl who exposes Fantine. Somehow, when I told John, he didn't seem upset that I didn't have a better role. He actually seemed shocked, then impressed. It turns out my mother was the factory girl for a while. I told him that I had really wanted to be Cosette, but I didn't tell him why. The guy playing Marius… I've had a crush on him since middle school. But I don't have the range for Cosette, so there I was, stuck as a factory girl.
John came to the show every night. He told me that I was as good as my parents were, and that as soon as I graduated college I should start a career onstage. He's already started applying to some college in North Carolina, near where my grandparents live.
Sometimes John and I sing at the graveyard. He loves to sing, and so do I. We sing a different version of "Bring Him Home" for my family. With his white hair and beautiful voice, I think John looks exactly how Jean Valjean did at the barricades.
So every week we come to the graveyard and change the flowers. There are two smaller tombstones for my sisters. I never knew them, John says. Then there's the one for my brother, Jehan. My mother's is next, then my father's. All of them are normal gravestones with normal epitaphs except my mother's. On her grave is a verse in French. I didn't understand it when I was little, and I made John translate it for me. Now, however, I can read it.
Elle dort. Quoique le sort fût pour lui bien étrangeElle vivait. Elle mourut quand elle n'eut plus son ange.