Quick and Painless: A Satirical Reimagining of the Invention of the Guillotine

March 16, 1792

March 16, 1792

My Dearest, Lonnie,

I've decided that I can't let you live without knowing that your family is doing well. And we are, we are just fine, and I will tell you every detail of every day to make you sure of it.

Starting with today:

I was awoken by the sun. The bright ball of fire burning its way through the window panes in the small room. Like a beam of chance, it found it's way straight into my pupils, threatening to blind me. 

I pulled myself into a sitting position, leaving our dear Romeo to rest beside me. His cheeks were quite fat, while his body was skinny. He had the sheet warped around him, grasping it as if it were life itself. 

He's so peaceful in his sleep. The energy finally drains from the day's work and leaves me with a small baby boy, not a tired servant.

I kicked the bedpost. "Shit!" the four-year-old cried.

"We don't say that word, Romeo."

"You say it all the time," he accused.

I corrected myself, "You don't say that word, Romeo."

Romeo pouted. He sat slumped on the bed, hands between his legs, eyes big like a baby cow. If I didn't see him like this every day, I would've almost felt sorry. But, I didn't.

A leak had sprung in the ceiling a few nights ago and Master Louis had given us a bucket to place under it. I grabbed a rag from the pile of rags in the corner. No need to ponder why we had a pile of rags in the corner, it was just a normal happening.

I dipped the rag in the water and took to Romeo's face. It was grimy and his hair was stuck up in strange places. I felt the need to make him look presentable. The less we looked like the peasants we were, the better.

"Do you think if you wipe hard enough, you can get all the black off my face?" Romeo asked.

I kept rubbing at his cheeks, "If you are talking about ash and dirt, it is a possibility."

He giggled, "No, Papa, I mean the black. And then I can have a face like yours, and people won't look at me with faces like this:" He scrunched his eyes and slid his mouth to the side of his face, not that far off from how people look at him. 

Slavery in France is coming to an end. I can feel it in my bones. But the looks never stop. And I try my hardest to shield Romeo from them, but there isn't much one can do.

"Non, I do not think that."

"But, Papa..."

"But what? I like your face the way it is. You remind me of your mama." 

 "And you really like Mama," he smiled cheekily.

"Oui"

I whipped his nose and then put the rag down, kissing his cheek. He smiled. Funny, when I was a little boy and my Papa would kiss my cheek I would immediately wipe it off with my sleeve. I have to say, I preferred the laughter and small giggle.

I grabbed Romeo by his armpits and set him on the ground. He looked at me, with those big brown doe eyes of his. He'll grow into them someday.

There was no need to get dressed, we slept in our clothes nowadays. And so, I grabbed Romeo by the hand and we exited the tiny room. 

Sometimes I think we sleep in a closet. The room is at the end of a long corridor, of much larger rooms. Inside there's not much space for anything, only one tiny bed, a hat rack, and a candle. Occasionally the Dutchess will store brooms and cloth in there, little things that were used to clean.