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

May 9, 1792

May 9, 1792

My dearest, Lonnie,

I laughed today and not sarcastically. Today, I was genuinely happy. I had no reason to be. In fact, I had a lot of reasons to be very unhappy. Between Antoine, Anaïs-Marie, Étinne missing his family, and me missing you, I have a lot to be very upset about.

There was something about that was different. The sky was bluer, the windows were clearer, the streets were happier, and there was absolutely no explanation for any of it.

It wasn't just me. Everyone seemed happy. Anaïs smiled when she woke up. Étinne was able to make quips and jokes. Romeo was a ball of energy, as always.

It was good. That's rare nowadays.

In my opinion, there's only one way to celebrate a good morning: with a good day.

The four of us had a good breakfast and then decided to go for a walk. We wanted to do something quiet and calming, something that couldn't tamper our moods.

So we did.

Side by side and smile by smile, we walked.

It was remarkable, really, like a dream. An unbelievable calm was swept over Paris overnight. Walking through the streets, all that can be seen are people conversing quietly, and carriages and horses trotting at an eerie pace. The sun was brighter than usual, and it made the few colors in Paris become extremely vibrant and beautiful.

I suddenly realized how detailed the architecture was in Paris, flowers, and putti's hidden corners of doorways. Even the gravel was made with round rocks carefully chosen to look aesthetically pleasing when placed next to each other. I never noticed that some storefronts had bedrooms above them, I just assumed that everyone who wasn't me lived in a mansion somewhere, but they live with their families, in a small room. Just like I do.

Maybe I'm not an outlier in the social pyramid. I live for myself, always have, thinking that other people are better off and don't need as much help as I do. And if they do need help, it's nothing I can provide.

Maybe I'm not alone.

I watched people go by:

A mother, dressed in rags, holding her young daughter's hand and boosting a child no more than two on to her hip.

A girl about Anaïs' age dressed in a fancy dress with wide hips, linking arms with a man who held his head too high for my liking.

An elderly husband holding his wife's shoulders as they got into a carriage.

A woman humming to herself as she twisted a wedding ring on her finger.

A teenage boy picking a dandelion for a girl he watches from across the streets.

On second thought, I am alone.

All of these people were in love and there was no one there to shame them for it. Even the mother could hold her children without getting dirty looks from onlookers because their skin is a darker color.

They were all happy and careless, or at least not as careful as I am.

That's the thing about good mornings: It's almost impossible to celebrate them with good days. The truth is, there's no such thing as a good day. Eventually, you overthink, and everything is ruined.

Damn thinking. It never did anyone any good anyway.

The rest of the day, though eerily quiet, was normal. It was normal up until Guillotin saw us on the streets.

I honestly don't know how he recognized us. I didn't think he cared enough to know our faces when he had so many other things to focus on.

Still, he knew us right away. He knew our names too.

"Andreas! There you are," he said as though he'd been looking for me.

Romeo answered for me, "Bonjour!"

Guillotin nodded to Romeo, "Bonjour, smaller Andreas."

The notion made Romeo grin. He doesn't get much human interaction outside the house.

Guillotin faked a smile and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me aside. He spoke in a low whisper, tinted with fake joy, "Andreas, who was that... person... who performed executions with you the other day?"

"Anaïs. She's servant and occasionally a mistress from Antoine."

"Where is he?" Guillotin asked. I assumed he stuttered, so without further explanation, I pointed to where Anaïs was standing. I suppose it wasn't a simple stutter because Guillotin's eyes widened, and he jolted his head back to me.

In complete terror, he said, "That's a female."

"Oui."

"A girl?"

"Oui."

"And she preformed executions?"

"Oui. Didn't we just say this?"

Guillotin stared at Anaïs without speaking for a long while. Fear clouded his features.

Anaïs looked back in confusion. I forgot that she couldn't hear our previous conversation. The confusion only grew as Guillotin took several large steps in her direction. He was tall and hovered over the confused servant.

In a deep voice, he said, "Bonjour... Angus."

"Anaïs," She corrected quietly.

Guillotin took a sharp inhale and stood in the middle of the sidewalk as if he were about to give a speech.

"Anaïs," he said directly, "I heard several accounts of your performance two days ago. The people were delighted with the amount of entertainment you provided them with, covering your face, working quickly, and with no remorse."

I had told Anaïs about the execution yesterday when Marie was no longer controlling her body. She didn't take it very well. Anaïs, herself, has a very strict 'no killing without an abundant cause' rule that Marie did not follow. This conversation made Anaïs upset; you could tell just by looking at her.

Still, Guillotin continued, "I think it would be fun for everyone if we started a new tradition: Andres and you will compete during executions to see who can make the heads fall faster if you know what I mean."

"I don't know what you mean," I piped.

"You two will see who can kill the most people in the least amount of time. We'll hold a little contest. It'll be good for French morale. Of course, Anaïs would have to dress as a boy so that she can legally participate. But that shouldn't be a problem."

Both Anaïs and I stood there in silence. Even if we knew what to say, all answers are incorrect for many reasons.

Doctor Guillotin broke the silence, "Are you willing to do that?" he asked, looking between us.

Anaïs looked down and batted her lashes, perhaps blinking back tears, or just in majestic thought. When she lifted her head, she was looking directly at Guillotin.

With a shaky voice, she asked, "Do we have a choice?"

We all knew the answer.

So much for a good day.

Ever yours,

Andreas Moreau