French Revolution

My name is Juliette, and my papa is the best baker in all of Paris. Every morning, our little home fills with the most wonderful smell of warm, crusty bread. I love it more than anything. But lately, my heart has felt heavy because our flour sacks are often nearly empty. There are so many hungry people, and we cannot bake enough loaves for them all. Outside our window, the streets of Paris are filled with a quiet grumbling, like a hungry tummy. We see the king and queen ride by in their shiny gold carriages, wearing clothes that sparkle like jewels. It makes us sad and a little angry that they have so much, while our neighbors have so little. It felt like a storm was brewing, not in the sky, but in the hearts of the people.

I will never forget the morning of July 14, 1789. The air didn’t smell like bread that day. It buzzed with excitement and shouting. From our little window above the bakery, I saw people gathering in the streets. They weren't grumbling anymore. They were marching, their voices joined together in a powerful roar. “To the Bastille.” they cried. The Bastille was a huge, scary-looking castle with tall, dark towers that loomed over our city. It was a prison where the king sent people he didn't like, and it always made me feel small and afraid. It was a symbol of his power over all of us. But on that day, the people were not afraid. They marched together, determined to show that they were strong, too. Watching them, I felt a flutter of hope in my chest. It felt like a new beginning, a moment where everyone’s voice was finally being heard.

A few days after the city roared, things began to change. Papa came home carrying a brand new flag. It had three beautiful stripes of red, white, and blue. He told me it was the new flag of France and that it stood for a new hope. He taught me three important new words that everyone was saying: Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity. “Liberty,” he explained, “means being free to live and dream.” “Equality,” he said with a smile, “means that you are just as important as anyone else, no matter if you are rich or poor.” And “Fraternity,” he finished, giving me a big hug, “means we must all look after each other, like brothers and sisters.” I held onto those words. I hoped for a new France where there would always be enough bread for everyone and where we would all be treated with fairness and kindness.