The Guillotine

King’s Notice:

“Sir William Rumell of Mertyle, faulted for the assassination attempt on Prince Edward, awaits his execution on this day at sundown.”



* * * * *



It's one thing to be beheaded when guilty. It's another thing to be beheaded when innocent.



My eyes are glued to the roaring crowd. The same men, who accompanied me on my quest to save Prince Edward, are all awaiting the executioner. We stand beside each other, hands tied behind our backs, with tremors shooting through our body from fear.



Our quest failed when we got captured by the guards and the king ordered a quick death sentence. His idea to vanquish the problem and our efforts before word got out. Once the five of us are dead, the prince won’t live another day with the king still alive.



My eyes shut tight as I listen to the sound of the guillotine slicing heads. Two heads gone, three to go. The crowd still cheers. How pitiful.



Another whistling slice and I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood. I take a reluctant step closer to the guillotine as the line grows shorter. One more and then it's my turn. The leader of the group. The silly man who thought to go against the king to save the prince from assassination, and then ends up being executed himself.



I shake my head hard, ridding the guilt inside of me. I'll be dead soon enough. There'll be no more guilt to invade my mind. No more blood on my hands. No more fear, hurt, or humility. No longer will I look at these ignorant people and think that they will always have my back. Life is a lie. You live it by lying to others just to save yourself. I have learned that the hard way.



The executioner walks up to my second-in-command, my right hand man. I look in his eyes and see the same fear inside of me. Unable to comfort him in the least, I glance away, watching in my peripheral as the executioner releases the rope to the guillotine. My friend's head falls into the basket below him. Blood squirts, hitting me on the face and in my mouth. I try to spit it out, but my mouth is too dry. The people nearest to the guillotine are drenched in blood, and yet, they still cheer like barbarians at a feast.



I turn my face away and look to the heavens, hoping, praying, that some miracle will happen to save me from this fate. The gloomy, gray sky looks down upon me and washes the blood and tears off my face with its heavenly rain.



A sign?



The executioner grips my arm, drags me over to the guillotine, and throws me down. Seeing me hesitate, he shoves my head in the wooden curve, now covered in blood. My men’s' blood. The rain, beginning as a slight drizzle, now pours relentlessly down upon us. I can't help but watch as the executioner lets go of the rope...



At the last second, hope evades and I pull back.



I do not want to die! I want to live!



The crowd is silent for a change. The executioner, appalled at my escape, is frozen with uncertainty. I take the advantage and jump off the wooden stage, shoving the bewildered people out of my way. No one tries to stop me.



It doesn't take long to hear the hooves of the king's horsemen on my trail as I reach the city gates. I run, still, making a break for the woods outside. The rain lashes out at me, making my hair fall in my face, partly blinding me.



Whistles sound as crossbows are shot. I dodge them with luck and continue running, the gate just ahead. However, as I leave the city and enter the forest, the horsemen continue to follow. My feet ache from the splinters and sharp objects they step on. My arms scream in pain as they bounce behind my back. I have no time to be comfortable.



Twigs rip at my face, slowly drawing blood. I grunt with effort to keep a steady pace. The crossbows keep coming, narrowly missing my body several times. Ahead, I spy the river and make a jump for it.



The water hits me like a ton of ice. Nearly winter time, I remember the water must be freezing. Despite, I bring my bound hands under my feet and in front of me. Then, I swim to freedom, awkwardly, down the river. In a matter of minutes, I no longer hear the hooves of horses or the whistling sounds of crossbows being shot.



My pace slows and for a while, I let the river carry me down, resting my aching body. Eventually, I summon the strength to crawl up a bank several miles away from the city. Lying on the dead grass, I sprawl myself out, my hands still bound together, resting on above my head. I let the rain wash all over me. I'm free. The realization hits me like an arrow in my stomach.



Hysterical, I laugh and scream in defiance.



Until a piercing whistle sounds in my head. I stop laughing. I stop screaming. The whistling gets louder and louder. And everything turns black...



* * * * *



The executioner lets go of the rope and the guillotine makes another kill. William's head falls into the basket, like the rest of his men's had done.