Tale of Two Cities By Charles Dickens- Bittersweet End
Shouts echoed through the square. It used to be a normal square, a place of normalcy once. But not now. People had donned the colors of revolution. Red, blue, and white, the only colors you ever saw anymore, for if you weren't with the revolution fully, you were against it. And the penalty for being against the revolution, was death.
I clutched my shawl closer to me; my fingers calloused from years of working the thread and needles necessary for my job as a seamstress, were tight over the edges of the fringed cloth, as the usually were whenever I was scared or even nervous.
I was herded toward the wagon that would take me to my death by the La Guillotine. I understand now why they refer to it as a woman. It could either curse you, or condemn you, it could offer a sweet lover's embrace to those who had suffered too much and gained too little, or it could be cold and relentless, to those who had rejoiced in life more than what was allowed of them.
There were 52 people with me that day, men and women alike. La Guillotine showed no difference to either, despite her feminine references. Some were as young as thirteen, others showed signs of their last days. There was no discrimination here.
One man in particular caught my eye. He had dark brown hair tied back, and his jacket was sewn well and out of quality materials. His appearance suggested that he was of the higher status, not that his title would do him any good now. What really caught my eye about this man though was the look on his face and in his eyes; they were calm, steady, unwavering. He had accepted his fate unlike so many of us here, and was ready to face it. I could also tell, that he too, was like me; innocent.
I was drawn to this man, I don't know why, but I walked over to him, and told him, "Its not that I am afraid to die, it's that I do not know what I did wrong." He looked at me understandingly with his deep brown eyes and said, "Take my hand."
When I did, I actually felt safe. In that moment he became more to me than any other man had been in my life before. I was able to use him as my crutch, since he was strong; I felt that I too, could also be strong. Even against the cruel fate that awaited us at the end of this ride.
The horse's steps were steady even though the road was uneven from disrepair and the onlookers were as rowdy and disrespectful as a whole. I was actually somewhat grateful in my own morbid way for the unruly crowd and street, for it gave me a chance to be closer, if only just a bit, to this man.
When the revolutionaries started throwing the rubbish and spitting at us, this man held me to his chest as a protective gesture. I heard people screaming at the top of their lungs, "Kill the Evremonde!" But when I looked back at my companion, he showed no signs of being affected. I had heard rumors that the nephew of the Marquis had been captured, but claimed that he had given up his rights as French nobility. I then decided that it mattered not, for shortly, we would fall prey to the burning blade of the revolution.
When we got to the square that held the guillotine, I felt another wave of terror sweep over me. My companion felt my fear and brought me closer to him.
When the first of the 'prisoners' was brought to face the heartless machine, I froze in horror. I had never once rejoiced in death, not even the cruel Marquis'. I had never come to see one of these harsh public displays, but now I was forced to see for it would soon be where I met my end. The crowd grew quiet as the blade reached its full height, as did my fear. The man pulled me around to face him so I did not have to see human evil at its worse. I appreciated his actions; I truly did, for I could not force myself to move due to the horror that had chilled me to my bones. However, he could not block out the sound. I heard the soft crying of the elderly man, pleading his innocence to the end, the sound of the wood grinding together, and the echo of the sharp blade slicing through flesh as a knife would butter rang through the square, overcoming the sickeningly entertained cheers of the mob.
It was then that the man started whispering to me in my ear, as if he knew that the simple sounds tortured my soul so.
"Please tell me what your name is madam." His voice flowed evenly, easily portraying that he was an Englishman. I was curious as to what he was doing facing the guillotine, he should have been protected from the hellish flames of this revolution.
"My name is Jaquiline. What is yours Sir Englishman?" I tried to keep my voice level as well, failing as its pitch changed several times thorough the simple words. I still heard the unjust murders continuing thorough the background, each fall of the guillotine's cold hand ending another life. The thought churned my insides until I felt I was to be sick. I knew that without this man to give me a semblance of calm, however, I would have long since been frantic with fear. He was able to take my mind off of the worst of it, and focus on other things. And for that, I was more grateful than I could ever express.
"My name is Sydney Carton. What are you accused of?"
"Plotting to put an end to this glorious revolution, me, a simple seamstress, ending this madness… If only." I sighed. "And you sir? How did one who should have been protected get caught up in this mess?"
"I am taking the place of an innocent man so that he might live along with his family in peace."
"You are taking the place of Charles Darnay-Evremonde are you not?" Mr. Carton as I have come to know him simply nodded.
"It is a noble cause." I told him looking at him. His face was solemn as he shook his head.
"It is the only thing in my life I have done worth doing." He sounded nostalgic, as if he was reliving his life up until this moment. I looked down at my skirts but brought him closer to me until we were embracing. Scandals did not scare me, as they would not have enough time to formulate before we would be gone.
I was grateful for the closeness. His arms wrapped around me, for the first time since this revolution had started, I felt safe, and for that, I was glad. That simple gesture was the closest I had ever been, and would be to a man outside my family.
And then, all too quickly, it came to be my turn to feel the cold embrace of death upon me. When the red, blue, and white donned men came to take me to my death, Sydney and I held onto each other. I fought to get closer to him as the men tried to drag me back, thankfully, Sydney brought me closer to him so that I could whisper to him, "Thank you Sydney Carton, you have helped rid me of my fear until now. You are a noble man, of the type I have never seen. I no longer fear my twisted fate. I pray that we shall meet once more, maybe in heaven. Thank you." I then gave him a swift kiss on his cheek, hoping to convey my emotions better, if only just a little.
Afterwards, I gave into the revolutionary's pulls, and felt Sydney's arms slip from around my wrists. I allowed them to lead me to the creation that would reunite me with God. As I walked up the steps and they strapped me into the contraption, silently, I prayed, "Lord, please forgive me for my sins and let my soul find its way back to you. I have been an honest woman, and have been wrongly accused. Please protect myself and Sydney Carton from the fiery flames of hell, and if possible, protect him from meeting the same fate as me at all. If that is not possible, please help him find his way back to you. He is a good man, honest and worthy of your love. Amen."
The straps fastened around my upper legs and back, destroying any chance of escape, or even of movement. The crowds roared in excitement, I looked up at them, memorizing their faces. How could they be so happy with the death of one innocent woman? Enjoy the unjust deaths of fifty two undeserving peoples? I stared at them through my dark eyes until they began to blur from long-restrained tears, then I gazed at noble Sydney, his eyes locked with mine, and stayed that way. I smelled the blood of those fallen previously to this vicious machine.
The last thing I heard was the wood coming grinding down, pushing the blade that would end my life and return me to God. The last thing I felt was the cold blade on my neck, the depressingly smooth, warm wood underneath me, and the tight leather restraints. The last thing I smelled was the stench of innocent blood spilt for unjust reasons. The last thing I tasted was the bile that had risen from my churning stomach. The last things I felt in my heart were pity, these sad people treated everything with contempt, save for the precious death-bringer, one was a friend, family member, or even lover one day, an enemy the next. The last thing I saw, were Sydney Carton's eyes as he was hauled to meet the same, sad fate as mine. Then these words left his lips, "Thank you Jaquiline."
Then, the guillotine came down.