She doesn't think of anything. Anything that matters anyway. She can still hear the words of the jury. They bounce around in her head and make her feel dizzy. It was almost sunrise when the men had come to a decision.
All throughout that night, she had known what was going to happen, but there was that small spark of hope that lingered on her heart, that maybe they would have mercy. She was wrong.
Now as she watches a mouse drinks her dirty water (it has leaves in it. Leaves.), she realizes what a fool she had been. Of course they wouldn't let her go. Not after all she has done. Not after she betrayed her country, her people.
The cell door is opened. "Get up." The guard all but spits in her face. After trying to get up three times, all in vain, the guard grabs her arm and drags her out of the filthy room that has been keeping her captive for months. Her hair falls in front of her, and she can see that what used to be beautiful auburn is now white. Every last strand on her head has lost it's color.
It wasn't like that yesterday.
The man lets go of her, and she straightens her clothes. (A piece of cloth, with ripped holes for her arms and head.) Oh, how she misses her old life! She misses her gowns. She misses posing for portraits. She misses walking through the garden with her daughter as they picked flowers to put in each others hair.
Stuck in some sort of trance, she doesn't realize that the guard is now behind her, binding her wrists together. They make their way out the prison.
Her senses are immediately ambushed. She sun is harsh in her eyes, and the sound of people is deafening. The guard pushes her forward when she stumbles. When she able to regain her sight, she can see the tens of thousands of people who have come to watch her die.
As they walk they pass trees made of reds and oranges. She looks up at them, and thinks about how close they are. That if she were able to move her hands she could reach up and touch them. It's a shame she will never be able to.
The crowd roars as see makes her way up the stairs to the platform. She lifts her head, and that's when she sees it. The instrument of her demise.
Death by guillotine.
Her heartbeat accelerates as she looks over at the blade, at the sheer size of the contraption, at the people who are prepared to celebrate the moment her head detaches from her neck.
She's so absorbed in her thoughts, that she accidentally steps on something. She looks to see that it's someone's foot.
"Pardon me sir, I didn't mean to." She utters her first word since last night. As well as her last. Her eyes meet the owner of the foot and she stumbles backwards.
The executioner says nothing, instead he grabs her shoulder and makes her kneel in front of the guillotine. He starts to push he head forward. She thinks about resisting, but it would only delay the inevitable. But then he stops, and she feels a tug on her hair. Then the sound of cutting.
Slowly, locks of white fall forward, and she see can see that her once long and elegant hair has been chopped off at her jaw. She doesn't make a sound. Not one. She won't give him the satisfaction of seeing her broken.
After what feels like a millennia, the man forces her head down.
The wood is cool against her neck. She stares at the floor as he locks her in. It's wooden as well.
It's almost impossible to hear her thoughts as the crowd thunders louder and louder with every passing second. Since she won't be alive for very much longer, she allows herself to think of her children, of her late husband, of her life. It was wonderful. Everything about it was just ... wonderful. Unfortunately the things that ensured her happiness made others suffer.
Her executioner is saying something, but it all sounds like white noise. Lifting her head as much as she is able, she can see that all eyes are on her. She swallows.
She wonders what happens when people die. Does it hurt? She hopes it doesn't, she's never been very good with pain, which is why she asked that night that she was taken away from everything she loves, to make it painless. She can still remember her exact words...
The man is now walking behind her. She closes her eyes, and the crowd roars.
As the blade is being released, she wonders what it would be like to fly over the mountain tops and never stop.
Her last thoughts are of birds.
***
On October 16, 1793 Marie Antoinette, Queen of France, lost her head.
***
"I was a queen, and you took away my crown, a wife, and you killed my husband, a mother, and you deprived me of my children. My blood alone remains. Take it, but do not make me suffer long."
- Marie Antoinette
Comments
Post a Comment