The Guillotine Survivor

Prologue

Prologue

            Looks can certainly be very deceiving. The day appeared to be calm, quiet, and quite peaceful, but in fact a storm was brewing, but not just any storm. Bitterness and anger had been pent up for far too long, and it was now ready to explode. A large crowd had begun to gather in a large abandoned field just as the sun was beginning to rise up over the hills beyond. It was a chilly morning and breaths rose up into the sky like steam, urging the crowd forward to take action. They huddled together, trying to warm their frozen bodies from the cold. The crowd only swelled as late arrivals joined their friends, family, and colleagues. They all stared at each other, not quite sure how to begin the day's proceedings. One man decided that a bit of arguing could liven up the day quite well.

            "We can't let 'em do this to us!" an angry peasant screeched, beating his hand upon his chest.

            "I agree! Something must be done!" another peasant howled.

            Peasants upon peasants joined with their cry, their voices merging and becoming one.

            "Who do they think they are?"

            "They're no better than us!"

            "I say we go after 'em!"

            The peasants were stirred, and would not be stopped. For centuries they had been abused and mistreated by the upperclassman French, and they wouldn't tolerate it any longer. This poor treatment was clearly visible in their slim, bony frames, covered by mere rags. Their clothes and body were covered in dirt, and the effects of malnourishment shone clear in their dulled eyes. 

            "Let's show 'em who they're dealing with!"

            The voices swelled with strength, anger, and volume. After minutes of this, one lone shout broke through the chaos. Silence settled in the field where the peasants had gathered, and all eyes had turned to stare at a man standing on a hay bale.

            "I agree," he stated, slowly and carefully calculating his words. "But we must go 'bout this proper. We may only get one shot to make our mark so we can't do this wrong," he advised. "No one ever gets anywhere without one of 'em plans."

            "What do you suggest?" a voice shouted from the crowd.

            The man thought a moment before replying. "I say we ransack their houses, burn their documents saying we owe 'em somethin', and stop paying the damn taxes!" he declared.

            Immediately, cheers erupted through the fields. Peasants shook their fists in the air, showing

their agreement.

            "But we gotta do this proper," the man continued. "We don't want 'em ta be able ta stop us, ya hear? They'll see that we're a force to be reckoned with," the man grinned.

            The crowd went wild; stomping, cheering, and thumping one another.

            "We are the Third Estate*!" they cheered.

            "Now ta prepare!" the man shouted and immediately the peasants busied themselves to begin their reign.

            This marked the beginning of an era which not only pitted peasants against nobles, but made everyone into a threat. No one was safe, and countless lives were lost. Innocent people were slaughtered daily, all in the name of the revolution. Nothing was too far. No one was too great to escape the guillotine's grasp. One day you might have been living a happy, peaceful life, and the next your head could very easily be mounted on a pike somewhere. It was an out of control bowling ball that was the French Revolution.

*The Third Estate was one branch of Frenchman.  There were three estates in France; the clergy made up the first estate, the nobles made up the second estate, and everyone else made up the third estate.  The First and Second Estates both got privileges even though the Third Estate made up the great majority of the population.