Joseph

-You Are My Way Of Life- Frank Sinatra March 1830, France Dear enemy, I'm writing you today to tell you that I've made up my mind. while you're reading this, I'll be on my way to start the preparations. I do wish you all the luck, as a friend, and not as your enemy. see you in June. yours truly, Joseph your grip tightens on the letter, your heart racing as you run as fast as you can through the streets of france. air filled with the smell of gun powder and blood, yells too loud and chaotic for you to understand, young men fighting against soldiers. what has happened in the last two months, you ask? Revolution. again. "he must be on a roof, observing all of this. he's too smart to engage in combat," you think to yourself, your eyes scanning the buildings, searching for a one not too high, not too low. a perfect place for someone to hide and scheme a plan against the soldiers while observing all of this chaos. a place Joseph would think is okay to stay in. your mind races with thoughts as you wipe the sweat off your cheek, your legs not stopping to let you take a breath. what if you can't convince him to stop? he's too stubborn, but you're more determined to save him, your best friend. he's the only one you have, after all. you hurry up the stairs, stopping abruptly when you don't see anyone on the roof. a second pass of you staring into nothing, confused, when you hear the click of the safety of a gun being released. "You came..." he says, his voice almost relieved. "Turn around." He orders, taking a step back. You turn around hesitantly, afraid of the expression he might have on. will it be an angry one? or will it be one of a stranger's? you're afraid that this Joseph isn't the one you used to know, yet you're met with the usual soft expression he has on. one that tells you "I'm still here", even when his tone wasn't as soft. "You're smart, but not smart enough," he pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as his grip tightens on the gun, "soldier."