~Guillotine~
By WordWulf, 20th Jan 2011 | Follow this author
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Posted in WikinutWritingShort Stories
The sun was a half circle on the horizon. The vertical guides of the guillotine cast a shadow of cross on the bloody platform.
~Guillotine~
France
June, 1905
“Mister Langolour, I must say your sang-froid attitude distresses me. While I find it courageous of you to face the impending hour of your death so bravely, one must wonder... are there ssues of sanity..”
Langolour reached through the bars of his dank prison, touched the other man’s ruffled cuff. “Doctor Brulle... please, I have made my peace, exhausted my defenses. There are those who see me as a threat to this regime. I suppose I have been in my small way. They have been successful in their efforts to discredit me and will now have me put down. Surely it is not insanity to finally accept one’s lot, to decide to do one last worthwhile thing with one’s life.”
Doctor Brulle patted the man’s hand, a certain professional affection in his touch. “Langolour, listen to me, man. I have studied the facial expressions and physiology of guillotined persons for some time. I have looked into their eyes. That damned machine is an abomination. While I find your demeanor intriguing, I cannot see that witnessing your demise would further the cause, the necessity of having the guillotine and all attached to it removed from out society.”
“Witness,” Langolour whispered. “I have as my last right a plea for witness. I have chosen you, having read your work and studied your cause. I must charge you to witness.”
“This is a most disgusting business!” Doctor Brulle spat. “Furthermore, I have never spoken to a victim pending the blade. You are asking too much of me, supposing you are in some way different from others I have studied.”
Langolour pulled his hand back through the bars. “I am sorry my composure discomfits you. Those you speak of were already dead, borne to the apparatus in fits, mumbling incoherent babble. I intend to approach this event, my faculties intact. If you refuse to stand witness, you are doing both myself and your cause a grave injustice. My dying will provide proof of awareness, that there is anguish and pain, punishment beyond the severing of the head.”
Doctor Brulle regarded the condemned man for a moment, languishing in the squalor of his cell. A rat scurried along the wall behind Langolour, disappeared into a pile of rotting straw. The doctor closed his eyes, blew a snort of air through his nostrils. “Langolour, you do so distress me. I believe you would have been a good man to know. It is with great sadness that I agree to your appointment as witness. I never imagined myself being in such a position as this.”
“I am through with sadness,” Langolour replied. “You have done me more service than you know.” Having said, he stepped back, laid down on the straw and closed his eyes.
June 28, 1905... 5:15am
A rattling of chains, fumbling through keys, the unmistakable tumble of lock... sounds a prisoner hears. Langolour stood and faced his heavily armed entourage. “Gentlemen, if you please, I appreciate the escort. This is a walk I would rather not make alone. Do a condemned man a favor. Allow me to walk among you unencumbered to my deliverance. In the name of mercy, forego your whips and chains. I go willingly, with no malice toward you, the mechanics of your task.”
The Captain of the Guard stepped forward, whispered gruffly in Langolour’s ear, “Behave yourself then. For appearances... hold these to yourself.”
Langolour gripped the manacles in his hands, nodded his thanks to the Captain. “Take me as you will. I am ready.”
The sun was a half circle on the horizon. The vertical guides of the guillotine cast a shadow of cross on the bloody platform. ‘Odd,’ thought Langolour, ‘It seemed so much larger from the cell window during my death wait.’ The rising sun glinted off the blade suspended at the apex of the towers and Langolour squinted his eyes.
The Crier began the formal reading of charges against him. Langolour followed the drone of the publican's voice. It led to the eyes of the onlookers, only a handful at this early hour. Relief flooded through him as he spotted Doctor Brulle, front and center in the witness chair, head and eyes even with the base of the guillotine.
A hand pressed into his back, pushed him forward, and Langolour realized the accusations and pronouncement of punishment were done. The chains echoed loudly through his brain as the Captain went through the motions of removing them. Hands on each side assisted him into a face-down position on the feeder platform. His breath leaked from him in small gasps as straps were tightened to hold him firmly in place. He smelled the copper of his own blood as a hand from behind pushed his head down and clamped it to a leather threshold the other side of the line of his life.
Langolour was attempting to sort through the cacophony of sounds around him, a ringing in his head and the voices of birds, when gravity made its song to the blade. Was that a basketful of the heads from yesterday just before him on the platform at Doctor Brulle’s feet? His head pitched forward and landed on its severed neck atop the heap.
His eyes blinked rapidly against his will and his lips attempted to say, “Is it done?” as he looked into the stricken face of Doctor Brulle. Overcome by weariness and heaviness of body beyond comprehension, he felt the lids of his eyes descend.
“Langolour, can you hear me?” A voice beyond bird-speak. He opened his eyes, drew them into a tight focus of Doctor Brulle’s face. His lips trembled, “Is it done then?”
The curtains of his eyelids pulled themselves down and blessed darkness made its creep. “Langolour... Langolour, look at me!” Those brave eyes stood the test and Doctor Brulle took a step back.
“You’re the bravest damned man I ever met,” Langolour said with the voice of his eyes as he gave himself over to the weight, into the folds of death.
Doctor Brulle sniffed loudly, wiped a tear from his face with his ruffled cuff. ‘Twenty-eight seconds duration,’ he noted on a pad. ‘Aware and communicative - eye contact twice’. He gazed upon Langolour’s dead countenance. “You’re the bravest damned man I ever met.”
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