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

May 7, 1792

May 7, 1792

My dearest, Lonnie,

Life is not on my side. I don't know why I expect it to be. Still, I'm disappointed.

Last night, Romeo was the only one who fell asleep. The rest of us were far too angry. We were too angry to be sad or ashamed or scared. We were too angry to think about executions or slavery or family.

So we stayed awake, sharing general hate for Antoine and fear for the future. It was a generally pointless conversation.

"Do we stay? With Antoine, I mean," Anaïs asked, somewhat randomly.

"We can't! He lied to us," Étinne snarled.

I agreed with him. Antoine was a terrible person for not telling us about the science experiment we were involuntarily involved in.

Still, Antoine made me a promise. I've watched him make other people promises in his office. I've seen him make promises to himself. He hasn't broken any of them, not one.

I don't trust Antoine to make the right decisions. I can't trust him to not do something utterly stupid without telling anyone. But I can trust him to keep a promise.

So, I had to choose between my happiness: leaving Antoine, and my morality: Staying with him.

I feel like an idiot. Antoine made me a promise that I'm too scared to see break.

"We should stay," Étinne and Anaïs will understand, I thought as I spoke.

"Are you insane?" Étinne questioned.

I huffed, "Where are we going to go? Who else is going to want us?"

"You guys can stay with Cele and me," Étinne suggusted.

Anaïs softly replied, "Your house is small as it is. You can't take in three more people."

"I'm not happy with Antoine, either. But he feeds us and gives us beds. We can't give that up," I said sadly.

Étinne made a face, twisted pain and anger. He wanted to go home. He needed to see his wife and baby and even his dammed father.

For him, there were no good things about living with Antoine, besides money. Étinne is white skinned and well minded. He doesn't have to stay here.

He stayed anyway.

With a slight frown, he nodded and agreed that we would live through Antoine's gimmicks.

That was last night, sad and frustrating. Let's talk about today, chaotic and full of strange occurrences, three to be exact.

The first one happened early this morning, and at its core was Anaïs.

I think I'm starting to understand the Anaïs-Marie thing. I don't understand it well, but I get the basics.

When Anaïs is emotionally stable, she's named Anaïs. She's responsible for herself, and every action she takes is her own decision.

But when she's not emotionally stable, we call her Marie. She's angry and hostile and it's unfair to blame her for the things she does.

Those are the guidelines. It's hard to follow them, though, because she looks the same. She looks like the girl who was holding my son, threatening to sell him.

Today she was Marie.

I knew it the moment she woke up. It wasn't unexpected, with everything that happened yesterday.

I made Étinne watch Romeo.

The first strange occurrence was marked when Anaïs-Marie asked me a strange question, "Can you show me how to cut someone's head off?"

"Excuse me?"

"I want to cut someone's head off. I think it will bring Anaïs back."

I stared at her. Maybe she wasn't Marie yet, just transitioning. Is that how this works?

I thought it over for not very long. If Anaïs-Marie started performing executions, I got to perform less. It also kept her away from Romeo.

"Watch me today. That can be your lesson."

Anaïs-Marie smiled a devilish smile. She nodded her head wildly.

The second strange occurrence had to do with an odd executionee: an old man, wearing nice clothes, and a lack of hair.

I'm used to people sulking up to the Guillotine, some fighting, some walk proudly. The one thing they had in common was acceptance, sad, guilty acceptance. I saw it in everyone's face. Even detached from their bodies, the expression remained.

I am now killing almost thirty people a day. Each one the same.

And then came this man. I don't know his name. He didn't sulk or fight or walk proudly: he danced.

This man waltzed to the table and lay down on his stomach with a shimmy. Then, once his head was through the hole, he turned to me and smiled. His eyes were dark.

I pulled the lever, and in one fell swoop, blood splattered across my shirt.

People in the crowd of onlookers danced too. They danced like death was a song with a melody that commanded celebration.

The third, and final strange occurrence once again involved Anaïs-Marie. This one came to my surprise.

She leaned over my shoulder when I was preoccupied and whispered, "Can I have a turn now?"

After being extremely frightened for a second, I agreed. After all, the old man who danced and smiled had driven me slightly insane.

"Oui... oui, of course. Your turn. I'm done."

I walked to the side of the platform and prepared watched patiently. However, patience had nothing to do with it. Anaïs-Marie pulled a piece of cloth over her head and told the guards who brought people to the machine to "prepare themselves."

I don't think anyone could've been prepared.

Anaïs-Marie cut off three heads within a minute and was hungry for more. By seven minutes all remaining twenty-five people were dead. The sawdust boys and the guards could barely keep up.

When she was finished, she asked for more, to which the guards responded with, "There are no more. Come back tomorrow."

She looked pained by the fact and wrinkled her nose. Anaïs-Marie huffed and turned back to the audience. She stared at them and they stared back.

She took a bow, not a curtsey, a bow. She bend her head forward and put her feet together as a man would.

The dammed crowd cheered and danced some more.

It was remarkable in a horrible, gory, and joyous way.

Anaïs-Marie took three more bows, and we called it a day.

You know what? These people aren't wrong: it was fine entertainment.

With love,

Andreas Moreau

Most of this chapter is historically accurate, specifically the strange occurances. 

Just think about that for a moment.