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

April 7, 1792

April 7, 1792

My Dearest, Lonnie,

I tried to explain to Romeo why he should keep away from Anaïs today. Tried being emphasized.

He's too kind, too forgiving. Our boy is too trusting. It's incomprehensible, really. I trust no one and nothing. I've been hurt far too many times, and Romeo has had it worse. Yet, he is still able to forgive. It's strange and wonderful and terrifying.

I woke up late and took a vital moment to appreciate how Romeo curled into a small ball under the sheet. He was so little. I've never met a child so purely petite.

I didn't wake him up violently, like I usually did, by kicking the bed and shouting, "wake up!" Instead, I gently ran a hand through his hair and mumbled that it was morning.

His eyes fluttered open, "Bonjour, Papa"

"Good morning, baby."

He muttered something in agreement.

Just like usual, he sat on the bed while I washed his face. Except for this time we had, or rather attempted to have a serious conversation

"Romeo, look at me," I said, wiping a cloth across his face. He smiled, his big black cow eyes, looking beautiful and innocent as ever.

"Romeo," I continued, "I don't want you to talk to Anaïs. Okay? I don't want you to be anywhere near her if I'm not with you. I don't want you to be in a room alone. Oui?"

He wrinkled his nose, "non!"

"Oui," I argued.

"Non. I like Anaïs. I just don't like Marie."

"Baby, Anaïs, and Marie are the same person. You know that, right?" I asked, concerned. I know that he's young, but there are some things that I need him to comprehend. I need him to know that there are some people you should be afraid of.

He closed his eyes, and violently shook his head, "Non, non, non. Different."

"Romeo..." I tried. He just kept shaking his head, refusing to look at me.

"Romeo," still nothing, "Romeo, look at me."

"Non," he whined.

I tried to hold his shoulders and keep him still. He wouldn't stop shaking his head and letting out small whines.

"Why, baby? Why non?"

He looked at me with this agonizing longing and hurt that you only see in sad old men, and abandoned puppies, "because I want Anaïs to be nice and Madame Elodie isn't nice, and Cele doesn't live here and Mama' s gone!" he yelled before breaking into sobs.

That's when I understood.

"You want your Mama?"

He looked at me, tears streaming from his eyes, and nodded. I held him as close as I could and kissed his cheek.

I like to think that somehow, I'm enough for our child. That if it's just him and me for the rest of eternity, everything would be fine. I know that's not the case. There will always be some void that I can't fill, some connection that's lost. He needs a mother.

I swear Lonnie, as soon as I can, I will come to find you. I swear over and over and over again that you will see your son grow up.

Attached to this letter, you'll find another piece of parchment, covered in my handwriting. Romeo insisted that he write a letter to you, he doesn't know how to write, so he just told me what he wanted to say, and I copied it on to paper. I think you'll find it to be quite humorous and heartwarming.

Until Tomorrow,

Andreas Moreau