Quatrième Chapitre

Marche au Supplice

Ich armer Tambourg'sell,
Man führt mich aus dem G'wölb!
Wär ich ein Tambour blieben,
dürft ich nicht gefangen liegen!

How could this be happening to me? How is this fair?

My future... my awaiting greatness. How can these menial people just strip all of that away from me? Take away everything I have to give to this world? And for what? A minor indiscriminate act. I mean, it's not as if I meant to do it... nor did I want to. It was but a minor moment of loss of reason, that's all.

Guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty... those fateful words just won't leave me alone! They are still echoing around me as if they were just uttered but two second ago. It's so easy to condemn, isn't it? Play God for all their might to make them feel superior, when in fact they're just trying to hide that in reality they are just trying to over-compensate their own lack of uniqueness on the expense of those who are.

Agh, those drums... those morbid, black drums just outside. Don't those drummers have anything better to do than create more oppressive weight to this damp, dark cell? It's as if they intentionally want to make their prisoners suffer even more than they already are... which is probably their objective anyways.

And in the end, all that soft rumbling causes nothing more than to make me remember my unfortunate consequences... of my own importance to the world... of her...

Yes, it's all her fault.

If that encounter in the green pastures that one day did nothing more to me, it was to finally make me grab a hold of myself and make me spill it all out in front of her... for better or for worse... certainly hopefully for the better no matter what the outcome. In all honesty I could not have taken any more of that feeling of uncertainly and haunted recollections of unsatisfied lust.

For once in my life I was actually going to do something regarding somebody else than me. Oh, yes. I had it all planned out... flowers, dinner, carriage ride, soft confessions of love in a little wine stupor, eventual make-out scene for my pleasure and then placing her on the pedestal of the great artifacts of the world. My greatest triumph. A wife as worthy to behold as the Seven Wonders of the World before her.

Or, so it was supposed to be...

Did she realise the importance and the gravity of what I was offering? Did she fall down and worship me for the greatest of all honours I was prepared to bestow upon her? Did she? No. Not in your life!

Meeting her at her home (as I had of course found out where she lived), I was lead to the grand parlour that was ornately decorated and lavishly over-saturated with flowers, heavy furniture and a garish fireplace. To this heavy environment she floated... not walked, but literally floated like a nymph, transfixed into a scene she did not belong to. Oh, just the sight of her was enough to make me feel warm and uneasy again, while she almost miraculously managed to lift the oppressive air of the room by a simple smile on her rosy lips.

"Hiwatari-san?" she asked curiously, almost timidly I thought... How my heartbeat increased by that simple pronouncement of my name. I knew now that I would have to do it... would have to confess or suffer the consequences of my reticence.

Oh, how it pained me to have to go through the preliminary empty chatter that was expected from polite social conduct... every moment of it causing my heart to twist into a tighter knot, like a wet blanket being squeezed of the fluids within the cloth. But finally the moment came, that oh so long awaited moment.

"You wanted to see me about something, Hiwatari-san?"

Yes, yes, I did and now it was time to tell her.

"Yes, Harada-san. There is something very important I need to tell you. Something that concerns you and me both. I have a confession I feel I must make and I hope you do not think I am being too forward. But I... I... have very strong feelings towards you – in fact, I... I believe I am very much in the grips of the emotion called love, which is directed at you! And I would very much like to ask for your hand in marriage."

There, I said it! Now all I had to wait was for her to gleefully jump on me and say "yes".

But such a moment did not come. Instead she gave an uneasy look, seemingly almost embarrassed. Twiddling her fingers she slowly began...

"I... I don't know what to say, Hiwatari-san... I'm awfully flattered, and I... um... I'm quite honoured you would consider me that way, but... I'm really sorry... I'm afraid I cannot accept your love or proposal... You see... I'm getting married... to Lord Ayanami, whom I believe you met at the ball..."

That's when I lost it. Whatever else she said was lost to me. All I could hear echoing in my ears was I'm getting married, I'm getting married, I'm getting married, married, married, married, married... to Lord Ayanami, that sneering dweeb who had so unceremoniously cut off my conversation during that horrible night at Baron Hitomi's Ball. That man... that grimacing shoesalesman, who dared mock my feelings... dared take away my masterpiece. I'm getting married... to Lord Ayanami... and not you... never you! Oh, her mocking eyes, her laughing mouth, her evil words, her hurtful scent, her... I will not be made a fool of!!

I am Satoshi Hiwatari! I am the greatest man alive on this planet! Nobody... and I mean nobody treats me like a fool! Not the leaders of this world, not the social snobs, not the simple servants, and most certainly not her... not her... I'm better than all of them! I am destined for greatness! I... I... I...

No wait... what are those sounds... those muffled sounds of somebody trying to speak... No, as if somebody's choking on a shrimp? Wait, a shrimp? Not a shrimp... my hands... my hands squeezed around... around somebody... somebody's throat... but whose thoat? A slender throat... a female's throat... – Risa's throat!

Her's – – –

My – – –

Her unmoving body... her unseeing eyes... her unspeaking lips... limp in my hold...

I-I-I... What have I done...?

Well, it was not long before I was caught in my moment of alleviating insanity. Not long before the police arrived. Not long before I was handcuffed and taken away. Not long before I was condemned almost at sight. Not long before the fateful words guilty! were spoken. Not long before I was sentenced to death... And all of this time I was in a stupor of whirling emotions, hardly able to comprehend what was happening. All my hopes dashed away because of one moment of insanity.

I mean, you understand, right? It wasn't my fault. It was a simple moment of losing mental control. I'm hardly to be held responsible for that. How can I then be sentenced to death? It was not my fault! It was... it was the fault of those sneering snobs. If he hadn't taken away what belonged to me... And if she hadn't said... it was her fault... it was his fault... IT IS NOT MY FAULT!!

...And now they call me a murderer. Let me just ask you, are any of them any better?

Ah... the break of dawn... a sinister cock crow... the incessant drumming... the awaiting scaffold... it's not long now.

And here they come... coming to fetch me, my grim reapers in disguise.

"Hiwatari. It's time."

How my feet feel like lead. I feel like shit, too. My clothes are sticking to my body and I just know my face and hair are dirty as hell. Through the corridors of fear my steps echo, somewhat strangely reminding me of Dante's Divine Comedy as if I am being led to the Nine Circles of Hell by my demon hosts... without the help of Virgil by my side either. "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here," indeed. Even the classics now mock me. Indeed, how ironic that I have turned into the very definition of the Aristotelian tragic hero. History can be so cruel.

Well, there it is, beyond those doors, the walk of shame and the guillotine, my final destination.

The doors open and I am, of course, immediately greeted to one of Azumano's most loathsome sights of dirty entertainment: the crowds, here to cheer the spectacle of a public execution. I have often seen these shows of bad taste and never have I seen anything entertaining about the whole ordeal. People come here to cheer, shout and mock the poor souls about to loose their heads in a show of bad taste only equalled by their never ending greed, unfazed by the fact that most of their victims are likely just as innocent as I am.

Funny, how I never thought I'd end up in the middle of these events of popular attraction. The sneers, the cheers, the loud outbursts of profanity, that follow without transition the thunderous stomping of feet, outline my whole walk from my cell to the hideous apparatus set up on the raised stage; the grotesque, antique guillotine, the silent witness of over a century of executions and death.

Finally the walk, that seemed to last for miles, ends up in front of that harbinger of doom, my head neatly placed under the looming blade, and to wait for the final strike to come...

I could just laugh at the irony of it all. All this time I have wanted attention, for people to notice me, and in the end this is the way I finally got what I wanted. The protagonist is dead, long live the memory of the murderer. All for lust and lust for all. And the crowds love it.

"Risa..."

I'm... I'm... sorry...

SWISHHH–BUM!!

Fourth Movement complete. I wonder if I went a little overboard on this one, but then again what wouldn't I do for the sake of angsty self-pity, grotesque satire and shock effect. But I do have to admit, I have never written this much about people dying before.

I, poor drummer boy –
they're leading me from my cell.
If I had stayed a drummer
I would not be imprisoned now.
– Gustav Mahler: Der Tambourg'sell

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