The Revolution
By Rebecca / Spinebreakers Crew
The door crashed open, the noise reverberating around the tiny cell. A beam of weak morning light shone onto the grimy stone floor. Rough hands pulled her up and shoved her out into the courtyard beyond. Blinking in the unfamiliar daylight, she made out the shapes of her family, a dishevelled group of ragged-looking prisoners, standing dejectedly in front of a ramshackle wooden cart. She could now see who the rough hands belonged to. A terrifying man, every inch of him as rough and coarse and common as his hands. He grabbed her arm and led her, stumbling ungracefully, unused to her legs, across to where the cart stood waiting. She gazed up into her father’s face. His eyes, once bright blue and full of laughter, sat black and dead like lumps of coal in his head. Looking round at the others, she saw each person was as broken as he; no one would meet her eyes. She knew there was no hope but she had thought they would all be a little braver. They had let her down and she did not want this to be the last thing she thought of them.
Her jailer was joined by more men, who seemed as if they did not have enough intellect between them to put together a few simple sentences. If she was going to die, she thought, she was going to remain proud to the very end. And so she walked forward onto the cart as a queen would into a carriage, even in her prison rags looking like the nobility she was. She shone out from her family, radiating a presence and a confidence that made the guards almost falter in confusion and respect. But they didn’t really care. So this little princess was going to her death believing she was above them all. They hated the aristocracy.
The last of her family was loaded onto the cart like cattle, and the wagon rumbled forward, bouncing over the cobbles, sending shockwaves up her spine. Most of the city had turned out to see them and the streets were lined with people screaming insults and throwing rotten food. Her family cowered together, weeping with despair and fear. She stood, staring out at the endless faces in disbelief. So much hate! Why? They had done nothing. These people a few years back had loved them; they had been kind to each other. Were their countrymen actually going to do this? Could they really condemn them to death?
As tomatoes and abuse rained down on her from all sides she stood, composed on the outside - tortured on the inside. Memories flooded through her, of happy days in their chateau, playing music - the simpleness of it all. And then they came, turning her life upside down, filling her with a terror she had never known before. They took away her house, her possessions, her memories, her family. There was nothing left for them to take, so now they were taking away her life. The street widened, and the noise of the crowd became deafening. Ahead was the square, and there it was in the centre, blade glistening in the sun, so final, so terrible that it sent a ripple of fear through them all. She almost broke down, almost lost her composure. How could anything ever prepare you for this? It was so daunting, so …. public. The crowd was there to delight in it all, to rejoice in their suffering, to make a mockery of their final moments. It filled her with disgust, and she was no longer afraid.