For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one – Kahlil Gibran
***
The stench of death gleefully hung frozen in time as its icy tentacles teasingly flittered with one man’s troubled soul. His troubles were born of the fact that he had found love in the strangest of places, and thus deemed his once welcomed end, unacceptable.
La Force prison: Rue du Roi de Sicile\
He tried to forget it all by wallowing in his retrospection, but the lingering presence of the fate which awaits him, gave no room for his unlit memories. He tried to remember the heinous nature of his crime, but the stench of his many predecessors, who had spent their last minute in there, distracts him considerably. His head hurts like hell and his arms which are bound by chains, feel like they would snap given the slightest provocation. The cuts and bruises on his body throb in needle like pain at every breath he takes, and he almost think the pain is unbearable, but then he remembers again, that today is his last and he heaves a sigh of melancholic relief.
There was a time when he did not want to live again, for he’d assumed that he’d found a reason to die. But now, he do not want to die, for he is convinced beyond all doubts that he’d now found a reason to live again. He found it unsettling that over the past months, his head had tried to tell him that he was strong, but his heart said otherwise. His head told him that he was a man for making it this far without breaking, but his heart said that he was like a church rat that had actually found something to nimble on in this death enclosed space.
Thirty minutes later and still lost in thirty years worth of rumination, he suddenly heard several loud footsteps shuffling towards his cell door. His heart performed a wild lurch because the footstep indicated that time was now upon him. When his squeaky cell door was finally pushed open, he was beheld by several bright lamps and numbness settled in. He wondered how many had come for him; he wondered if he could make a break for it. But before he could give his questions any thought, he is roughly dragged to his feet, and it is then that he realizes that his once powerful body had lost the will to fight. So he looked up in a silent appeal, but he is met by the icy stare of the warden.
Outside his cell, his is greeted by a deafening silence from the other prisoners. No words of encouragement were uttered, no form of encouragement were given, for it is said that no man walked this particular corridor more than twice; first, when he is brought in and finally, when he goes out to die. For it was exclusively for those deemed by the government, “not entitled to the sacred luxury of living again”.
As he shuffled towards his doom, all he heard were his hollow footsteps and the clangoring of the chains that bound him and despair, threatened to shatter his seemingly ironclad resolve. Finally he reached the end, and the massive gate leading to the courtyard was swung open to the garrulous chanting of the crowd. Gathered in the courtyard, were people eagerly anticipating his fate and unsurprisingly, his presence caused a massive uproar as the crowd went into frenzy. Never had a public execution attracted so many people; never in their entire history had one man been this feared or despised. But he was unperturbed by the vile and hatred they felt for me, for it was only human nature. All he felt was sympathy and sorrow, for he’d once walked this path of hatred; a path that eventually led to only one thing, damnation.
Eagerly, he searched the faces of the people gathered for the only one who mattered, and he was hurt beyond pain, for she was nowhere amongst the crowd. Finally, the crowd had resorted to stoning as he was dragged but he cared less; all he wanted to see one last time was her beautiful and strong face. After what seemed like eternity, the crowd has quieted down for his sentence to be read. But even when the courtyard was dead silent and the booming voice of the executioner resonated all over, he heard nothing but the cacophony of despair that resonated in his heart.
When the charges brought against him had been read, and his sentence pronounced to the delight of the crowd, he was unbounded and laid down to be executed. So in one last desperate bid, he scanned the crowd again, and there she was as she had promised. His joy knew no bounds as tears flowed down both their eyes. Then he mouthed to her those three precious words he never had the luxury of uttering to her, and from where she stood weeping, she understood and crumbled to the ground in abject sorrow.
Right at that moment, his heart paused in sorrowful merriment; right at that moment, time froze and the blade that was meant to severe his head, hung suspended in midair as the memories of what had been and what can never be slowly flashed before his very eyes.
One year earlier
It is the year 1793, and France was going through a revolutionary period. These were dark times which occurred after the onset of the French Revolution. It was a period marked by serious political unrest which was incited by conflict between two political factions, the “Girondins” and the “Jacobins”. It was a conflict which claimed the lives of everyone who mattered to a certain Antoine Pierre Corday.
Antoine was a man hunted by death from the very day he was conceived. For on his way into this world, he’d held on tightly to his mother’s insides till the light had slipped out of her very eyes. He’d not screamed as other newly conceived did; only his mother did before she finally lay lifeless and cold. Bloodied and covered in gore, one of the ugliest child ever birthed by a human, opened its eyes and then seemingly scrutinized all who were present that night.
It was a scene straight out of a horror flick and the midwives fled that night screaming that ‘Le Diable’ had arrived. Soon the whole town heard of the strange and macabre circumstances surrounding his birth. Soon stories of the strange and violent baby kicks his mother had experienced within the first month of her pregnancy flittered around; kicks that were usually experienced in the later stages of a pregnancy, and shouldn’t have been so violent; kicks that should have been the first indication that there was something terribly wrong with the baby.
But despite the circumstances surrounding his birth, his father and siblings loved him unconditionally. So Antoine grew up under the love and care of his family but sadly, couldn’t live a normal life. You see, Antoine was a sweet, quiet and gentle boy who always tried to find happiness in the minutest of things, but the fact that he was always feared and laughed at wherever he went made him extremely sad. Furthermore, death seemed to follow him everywhere he went.
By the age of five, Antoine unintentionally made his first kill. On that faithful day, he being playing by himself in the backyard when one of his father’s dogs who unbeknownst to them, was rabid, attacked him. He was alone and scared and the first thing that came to his mind was to kick out at the advancing dog. That was all it took. One swift kick and the dog’s neck broke.
By the age of seven, he mistakenly killed his first human in self defense. It had been a huge fifteen year old bully called Pierre who had a penchant for cornering Antoine by the stream and forcing Antoine’s head inside the water till his face turned blue. On that faithful day, after Pierre had finished with him and was walking away, a fury overcame Antoine, so he picked up a rock the size of a golf ball and threw it at the departing Pierre. Just like David in the bible, that one stone was all it took for the giant to be slain.
All these coupled with the fact that he could never be accepted in the society, forced Antoine to leave his home at a tender age of fifteen to begin a journey of self realization. By the age of seventeen, he met a man who knew him and his potentials for what they were, so he took Antoine under his wings and taught him all he knew about the ways of an assassin. For years he learnt. For years he killed successfully, garnered a devastating reputation for himself and the name ‘La Bête’ [The Beast].
He was a phantom in the underworld, for no one who saw his face, lived to connect it to his name. He was a silent and stone cold assassin who never gave his victims a chance. He was a beast, a nocturnal predator, a human monster that you would never see coming until his blades had severed your jugular. This was the life he lived in solitude, deep in the forest and away from civilization. He only surfaced if there was a job to be done and even then, he used the blanket of the night as his protection. And it would have remained that way if his family who were Girondinst hadn’t been killed in the mass execution.
When the news of their execution reached his hearing, he’d wept for the first time in his life. He’d wept like a baby as he raged and felled young trees with on swift kick in the forest. For hours he brawled with nature as he mourned the passing of a family he never got the chance to thank. Spent and exhausted, he’d laid under the moonlight and stared at nothing for hours. He wondered why when he didn’t get what he desired, he suffered. Then if he got what he doesn’t desire, he suffered too. Worse, even when he gets exactly what he desired, he still suffered because he couldn’t hold on to it forever. He then wondered why his mind chose to be the source of his predicament; for it wants to be free of change and pain. Free of the obligations of life and death. But sadly, change is a law and no amount of pretense will alter that reality.
He mourned the fact that death still chose to strike his family after he’d made the ultimate sacrifice of leaving them. He bellowed into the night and beat himself, for he was of the notion that he could have saved them if he’d stayed closer. Now he wondered what was left for him in this life other than embarking on a warrior’s path. For the way of a warrior is meant death. The way of the warrior is death. It means choosing death whenever there is a choice between life and death. It means nothing more than this. It means to see things through, being resolved.
He had made a decision, for he was a warrior and the warrior’s path was his calling. But he wasn’t leaving without honoring his family, so he rose with just one task in mind. Never before had he been this determined. Never before had he relished the prospect of doing what he only knew how to do best.
*
Two nights later, he swaggered into La Force prison with two bloody sacks, and when he poured out the contents on the floor, all hell broke loose. Antoine had chosen the warriors way but he’d made damn sure he wasn’t going alone, for in the sack were the twenty nine heads of the people who were either directly or remotely responsible for the execution of his family. He’d made them feel his pain, he’d killed them slowly and they gurgled on their blood; he’d made certain of that.
The public outcry was loud. The demand for his blood was universal. The terror they all felt for him was real. He could almost taste their fear but he cared less; all he wanted was for the legend of ‘La Bête’ to live on. For he hadn’t revealed he was the phantom of the underworld, lest they also derive peace from his death. Now, he so eagerly anticipated his death, for he wanted to be finally united with his family in a place where he would never be judged. But for some unfathomable reason his execution stretch over a year, and it was then he met ‘La Belle’, Adelaide’.
He’d met her in the prison yard, during one of the times he was allowed to take evening walks. He’d been struck by the determined look she had on her beautiful face as she unsuccessfully tended to rose bed in the prison yard. He stood watching her for a time, and when he noticed her frustration, he slowly walked towards her to offer his help. When he got to her side, she looked up at him for some brief seconds before she continued to struggle with her work.
Antoine was struck by the fact that she’d hadn’t looked at him in fear or disgust. She was the first person to ever look at him and not judge him and this struck him in a place he never knew existed. So he went down on his knees to assist her even when he knew nothing about tending to roses. For some unfathomable reasons, the roses seemed to react positively to his touch and they miraculously blossomed before their very eyes. It was as thought his life force had been fed into them and the joy he saw in her eyes was priceless.
That day, he realized two of the most important things in his life. Firstly he was in love with Adelaide and secondly, he discovered through the roses that his life wasn’t all about death but also about life. So everyday he eagerly anticipated his evening walks, and with time, he got to know a lot about her and the reason why she was in prison too. He’d heard the story of how in self defense, she’d killed her abusive husband who was an important political figure in Paris. He’d felt the animal in him roar when he heard of how she’d been mistreated and sentenced to prison. For the first time in his life, he felt true empathy for a human other than his family.
For the first time in his life, Antoine felt happy and at peace; happy that the roses were blossoming beyond belief and at peace because he’d found a soul mate. But as the time for his execution drew near, a dark shadow began to overcome him. Quite suddenly, the way of a warrior didn’t appeal to the warrior any longer. Quite suddenly, he wished things had been different. A month to his execution, he was to be moved to a different section of the prison where those going to be executed were put. So he met Adelaide one last time to say good bye. They’d held themselves tightly and wept for each knew an important part of the life was soon to vanish. Soon they got lost and he knew her and a woman for the first time. He’d wept in joy as she gently guided him in, while she’d wept at the pleasure his huge size offered her. It was a perfect evening that they hoped will last forever. It was the perfect unison of two broken and lost souls, made whole by their pains.
The present
As the blade swept down to cut Antoine’s head clean, an anguished scream rose from Adelaide, but the joyous cheers of the crowd completely drowned her and thus made a mockery of her pains. Soon the crowd had his head hung on a pole as they cheered around the city of Paris, while she remained in the courtyard mourning.
The following evening, she hurried to the only gift Antoine had left, and was beheld with a horror. All the roses had mysteriously withered to death as thought they had died along with Antoine. She’d crumbled to the floor in defeat, for the shock had been complete and the pain unbearable. For hours she lay on their dead rose bed and wept bitterly till she felt a very violent kick in her stomach. She paused in surprise and she felt the kick again, this time even more violent than the first.
Then realization dawned on her and she was overwhelmed with joy. Antoine before his death, had left her the ultimate gift, and she was forever grateful to him. It was a gift she was determined to keep and cherish at all cost. It was a gift she was willing to keep even if it meant the end of her life. And with those thoughts, she got and walked away from the rose bed, for she now had plans to make for herself and her baby.
It is said that life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one. Such can be said for Antoine, for even in death, he had suctioned away the life he’d given to the roses. Likewise, he’d planted a life into Adelaide’s womb; a life which she doesn’t know would guarantee her death; a life which may or may not sustain the cycle of life and death.
My Dark School Of Thoughts 
Leave a comment