Creative Writing: The Bastille The Bastille looked so small from where we were standing. It was a unusually dark night as we approached out objective. I could not keep out of my head the night before. Me and the Doc huddled around the table till 3 am exchanging stories of childhood memories and women. For being a doctor (I hate doctors) he was pretty hip. I wish we wouldn't of drank so much wine though. My head is still throbbing and the damn French weather ain't helping it much either. I keep looking straight ahead, nothing of interest to the sides of me trees and shrubs. My mind keeps wandering as we walk. What if the guards kill all the prisoners, what if we get