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| Storming of the Bastille |
The judge sat on his seat waiting for the next prisoner to enter for judgement. He flicked through the parchment paper reading the reports. The chairs were filled with people and even a few fellows stood behind the chairs because of the lack of them. They were either enjoying the entertainment or reporting it for a Journal paper. The grenadier bought the lady in. Chairs that were scrapping, voices that were chirping and gossip that was going around came to a stop.
Silence reigned the room as the lady sat down on the seat that hugged the corner.
The judge was tired and there were plenty more cases to go through. “You have been accused of betraying the revolution”, he stated without any further ado, “How do you plead?”
Her face held an iron clad expression. She did not wince, her eyes held steady in their sockets and there was a complete lack of perspiration on her face.
“I...I-I plead guilty”.
“I will read over your case and then pass judgement. We are done”, the judge proclaimed.
The grenadier marched her out of the room.
***
Back to the prison she went. A prison that saw light only in the morning, but as soon as the sun set, pitch darkness filled it. There were a few lucky few whose walls had cracks and gaps, and rays of moon light poured in. These souls did not sleep in their hay beds, rather slumbered on the ground, gladly receiving that tinge of light. She lay on the hay bed, in darkness. She was not one of those lucky souls. Her clothes were still the same ones that she wore when they came to arrest her. In her heart, she knew she was guilty.
Her vision drifted out into the darkness of the prison. This was the first place to be liberated, but no one was freed, not a single soul. Instead, more souls, who were wrongly and righteously accused, were put in here. The irony.
***
She sat there not in defiance, but in wallowing in her guilt. It was that same room.
“I have no pity on you”. It was another judge, but the faces in the crowd were all the same. Curious faces, but none that she remembered, none that she knew.... she was abandoned her by everyone.
“You are accused of betraying the revolution, while you were actually the one to advocate it first through your leaflets. Yet, when we came knocking on your door, for refuge, for advice... for help, you refused us and lives were lost. What do you have to say?”
“You... you don’t understand, I wanted to... with all my heart I wanted to”. The frown on the judge’s face deepened, but he did not interrupt her.
“I asked friends, I took counsel, I... wanted to steel my doubt. You don’t understand” her voice began to rise with a pleading tone, “With all my heart I wanted to help the revolution.”
In her passion she jumped to her feet, “It is my failure that I didn’t take part in it, that I didn’t follow through, that I-”
“YOU’RE PATHETIC!” the judge’s voice roared over her argument, “It is wise to take counsel from your friends but ultimately, the decision is yours to make! I sentence you to death.”
Her feet felt weak and she almost buckled another her weight. A hand gripped her shoulder. It was grenadier holding her up. She was marched out of the room.
***
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| Death by the guillotine |
Was it today? Was it another day? Did I go back to prison? Her thoughts did not matter as stepped up the wooden platform. A black mask as pulled over her face, a priest said the prayers, the sounds of the crowd carried through the cloth.
Sophistication, darkness, incoming death... that what she felt. Her head was placed on the guillotine. It felt heavier than ever. The sound of a blade slicing through the air.
The crowd roared.
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