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.
