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

March 26, 1792

March 26, 1792

My dearest, Lonnie,

Good news came yesterday, as Antoine and I finished building the Louisette. Even better is that while in the city with the late Mistress' family, Antoine was able to find a homeless dog with several little puppies. 

They yelped when we cut their heads off. 

At least the machine worked. 

The only problem we faced was when Romeo came outside, exclaiming, "Étinne says you have puppies!" 

I chased him inside before he could see anything, "Non, baby. We don't have any puppies."

 "Étinne lied?" he squeaked.

I looked him in the eye, "Oui... oui, he did."

Romeo's mouth gaped open, and he looked back to the kitchen, "Why would he do that?"

"I dunno, maybe you should ask him."

He ran away, shouting, "Étinne! Why are you lying?" 

We ran out of puppies after about six mock executions. But that was enough to prove that the beheading machine worked. 

"Marvelous!" Antoine cheered. 

"It truly is genius," I supplied.

He smiled, "We must celebrate, Andreas! How about wine?"

I laughed. It must've been a joke. I mean, we just witnessed a woman drink herself to death. But the man cocked his head, looking at me like I was mad.

It wasn't a joke.

"Oh, non... I'm good," I stammered. This man had no emotion. No wonder Guillotin asked him to build an execution device.

"Well, I'm getting wine," Antoine remarked.

I raised my eyebrow, "We don't have any wine," I went slowly, "Elodie drank it all. And then she died."

"Oh, oui. That's right," Antoine said like he forgot, "Isn't that annoying. I'll have to find myself a new lady."

"So soon?" I asked.

"What do I have to grieve? She was just a person I let live in my house in exchange for, you know. There's no personal connection at all. You get it."

I don't get it. 

Anyways, that odd conversation behind us, there was one problem with the Louisette: and that is the matter of blood. It turns out when you chop something's head off; blood gets everywhere. 

There wasn't much we could do about it. There was no way to keep the heads and necks from bleeding unless we cut off the circulation somehow, and that seems pointless when the goal was a quick and painless death.  

We ended up wiping it up with rags, which took a long time and ruined a lot of our rags. Perhaps sawdust would work. 

After we killed all the dogs, we had to dispose of the bodies. There was a small river a couple of blocks away, and I gathered everything into a box and started on my way.

But Anaïs stopped me before I got far. 

"Andreas!" she called, "Wait! I'm coming with you." And she ran to my side. 

"What are you doing?" I asked accusingly. 

She took a deep breath, seeming a lot calmer than she had the other days, "I need to apologize." 

I kept walking, not caring much, but not complaining. 

"That wasn't me: the person who was hitting Elodie. That wasn't me," she said as if it were the most significant lie in the world.

"I'm fairly sure it was."

"Well, physically, it was, but... it just wasn't me. It's strange. Sometimes I feel like this nice girl who wants to do the right thing and make people happy, and then something breaks and I'm a savage who wants to yell, to kill and be killed. And I don't control it. I don't have any warning or say or... anything. It just happens. It's like I'm two different people. And I hate it."

I sighed, "You're not two different people. You're just crazy."

Her eyes welled with tears. I didn't pay mind to them. I felt no pity, other than for the fact that she was so emotionally weak. 

Her breath shook, "Please, believe me, Andreas."

"Non"

"Please!" She begged.

I stopped and looked directly at her, my blood boiling, "If you are two people then change, right now! Become someone else! Make me believe you!"

"It doesn't work like that!" 

"You're insane!" 

"I know!" she sobbed, "I- I know. I should be in an insane Asylum. I should be executed for false convictions of witchcraft... but I'm not. I'm not, Andreas, and isn't that a sign. I've heard stories of people like me, I know they're out there, and I know how they feel."

"Bull shit!"

"The world is changing Andreas. If the poor people are suddenly going to have a say, why not the misunderstood? Why not?"

I shook my head, "Because it doesn't work like that. Equality isn't real! Not for the mentally ill, not for the Africans, not for anybody! No matter what they write in the papers," I took a deep breath, "Get that through your head or get killed."

She whined, "That's not fair!"

And at this point, we had reached the river. I through the box in and watched it drift away. 

"Non," I assured her, "Non, it is not."

She stood at the riverbank, dumbfounded and crying. I walked away, leaving her standing there and breathing until her chest shook, and she let out a pitiful yelp.

I wanted to believe her. Deep down, I really did. I've heard of people suffering from depression, and I knew that other things could misfire in a person's brain, making them go insane. It would be nice to see them get help. But I live in the real world, and I know that it will never happen. 

Let Anaïs have two people live inside her. Let her sympathize with others who two feel the same way. Let her cry for freedom. And when the time is right, let her rot away in a dungeon, waiting to be sent to death. Let her have all that, but do not let her bring me down with her.

 I will not be brought down with her.

I can't be brought down with her because I can't risk my chance to see you again. My love, I will see you again.

Your Husband,

Andreas Moreau