The Guillotine

The Guillotine

By: Brandon White

Chapter One – The Guillotine

It's cold outside. Rapid breaths reveal my fear in a continuous line of smoke trailing from my mouth. I'm nearly naked, dressed only in a mocking shroud draped across my shoulder and tied around my waist. Chains and shackles bind my wrists and ankles. They are a representation of what I have become… a simple flicker, a blemish in the renowned light of the normality of society.

I hold my head high in pride as I walk through the crowd. Even if it is false, it is all I have… They mock me, screaming and spitting. Several reach out and slap me in the face. They shout names and chant, "Kill him! Make him suffer!" My heart pleads, but my tongue remains motionless. The callous I have spent so many years to build has broken, and now it violently bleeds tears and mercy.

The steps to my death grow closer, my knees weaker. The crowd cries in pleasure as the blade is lifted and held high, a foreboding illustration, reminding me death now breathes on my neck. Time suddenly seems more valuable, and the memories sweeter. Even now, as all hope seems to evade me, the birds sing louder, and the sky feels brighter. I want to live this moment… Above all, I do not want to die.

Everything seems to move slower. My mind plays my life a day at a time. Each memory filters and moves on, a brisk sweep and touch and I must move on; there is little time. I realize that the past few years of my life have made the deepest impact on me. I am not the same man I was when I entered these walls. Somehow, they changed me. They molded me… gave me courage, strength, and now death. They breathed the true essence of life in me, and let me live it, an opportunity few have ever encountered. Any sane man would hate the walls, but I, oh no… I love them. They were my refuge, my friend and my teacher. They have taught me more about life than any living human being could ever dream of accomplishing. And more than anything, they helped me become who I am. And I know they are proud.

I look out into the crowd, examining the audience whom begs to witness my execution. They are so hungry for blood of the immoral lover. It's when I reach the steps that I see him. My heart stops and I nearly stumble. The guards push me forward as I stare into the eyes of the one I love. I have neither seen, heard, nor spoke to him in these past three years. And even now, I love him. I see the undying love that dwells in his heart as well. I so longingly wish to break from these chains and escape with him forever.

I gradually climb the steps, each tread knowingly drawing me closer to my grave. My eyes cannot leave his. I reach the top and the guards push me to the floor. The executioner spits in my face and kicks me in the side. I cry out in pain, my eyes still locked on my lovers. He cries amongst a crowd of violence. I want to reach to him… I want to touch him, kiss him, if even once before my death. But, wants are merely propositions for disappointment. The executioner grabs my arm and pulls me up. He hands me a dress and commands me to put it on. The crowd wails in laughter as I pull it over my head. The dress is a light pink, tattered and poorly adorned with embroidery and unraveling frills. He then pushes me back down, dragging me to the guillotine and placing my head in the crevice. I look up as far as possible, barely able to see the blade directly above my neck.

I glance over towards my lover. My heart sinks into my stomach, unable to believe what I see. He is standing there, holding hands with a woman. A cold stab of jealousy pierces my heart. I know that he doesn't love her… He is a fake, merely another who humbly bows his head and distorts his true self only to live in complete misery. But live, if nothing else. His tears are now gone, and he screams in anger with the rest of them. He will no longer look me in the eyes.

The executioner raises his hand, shushing the crowd, "Silence," he mutters. "The man you see here before you has committed the crime of immoral love with a person of the same sex, disgracing himself before God and this country. The crime for which is punishable by death of the guillotine. He has refused to any cooperation regarding negotiations of his penalty. Those negotiations were simply to state the name and whereabouts of his lover, with which the reward for was ten years in prison for him and his lover. He denied any existence of a companion."

"Kill him!" Someone from the audience shouts, followed by hundreds of others ranting in agreement. I can't believe how much people can hate someone simply because that person is different. How is it that my life style affects anyone else? I have harmed no one.

The guard kicks me and spits on the back of my neck, "Where is your pride now, scum?" He mocks.

I weakly rise to my knees. "Pride?" I ask, "You will never rob me of my pride. It will go to my grave with me, and even there it will live on in the hearts of others. This is the beginning of a revolution. And it will not end for thousands of years, and thousands of lives… until every man woman and child realizes that love is love… and it is pure and good. It is hate that destroys us. You are the ones who commit the crime. You are the immoral ones, the murderers, not me."

He kicks me back down, holding me in place with his foot. I hurriedly skim for my lover, but he has disappeared in the crowd. I saw the guard's hand reach to pull the lever.

Chapter Two – Danté

I remember when I met him. It was 1792; I was a young boy, merely sixteen years, housed in a beautiful mansion atop a hill in the center of Paris, France. I was, as of yet, unaware of my sexuality, and truly had never considered the thought of being anything but heterosexual, for if otherwise, the result was death. Our family was one of the most affluent and powerful in all the country. My father, Fontaine Brighton, a flamboyant Comte of articulate sorts, shunned the idea of anything that went against the average sociopolitical customs. My mother, Annabelle Brighton, was a beautiful housewife, an iridescent jewel. She was my father's prized possession, a showcase of the effects of power and money. And I… I was the perfect son, a handsome, smart, charming, and hardworking boy with talent far beyond the commoner. To all, we were a perfect family, a stone of sobriety and leadership fit to rule, a paradigm of the picturesque household.

~ ~

I came across the field, treading swiftly upon the open breeze. The sun caressed my skin. My hair bounced lightly with every gallop of Daylight's hoofs. That familiar smell of spring, one of growth and awakening, lingered in the auburn sunrise. I saw him there, standing at the stable, looking out across the plain… staring at me. My horse boasted its brilliant chest high into the air, rising onto its hind legs and neighing gallantly.

"Shh…" I whispered, patting her side lightly. I snapped the reigns, shouting "H-yah!" and Daylight obediently headed towards the stable. She drew close and I climbed down from her saddle. "Hello there," I nodded, "are you the new stable boy?"

He paused a moment. The sun reflected off his eyes. They were so beautiful… a stunning swirl of silver and blue. "Yes, I am. My name is Danté Charone."

I felt so awkward. A lump had grown in my throat and my heart was beating hysterically. I had never felt this way, not for another man! I'm… I’m not a… a homosexual! It felt so uncomfortable to even say the word, as if I couldn’t even conjure such a thought inside my head. But I couldn't help but stare into his eyes when the sun would catch them just right.