Every one of them walking to the guillotine is in a profound state of shock. Their skin is ashen, eyes both beseeching and hopeless. I would save them if I could, but some of them are real monsters. To save a monster takes more time than anyone has, and even then they'd be a liability. So the blade is raised and dropped until the killers and predators are gone.
Once in the guillotine there is the smell of blood and the sight of those who were executed only moments before. In this moment I choose to close my eyes and see my love through the lens of my heart. All they do this fine day is release my soul to the hands of my creator.
It matters not who you were, king or rebel heart, upon the guillotine stage you are a scared child praying for rescue.
They drag so many upon the guillotine stage, but I will walk steadily while these legs will agree to carry me onward. I will speak of love until I breathe no more and know that they who kill are the true walking dead. Heroes live on. That's a fact. And so while I am truly terrified, I will take it as if I have been invited to the stage of some great theatre production.
Upon the planks of the guillotine, that stage of death, echo my own feet. Yet I came here of my own accord. There were many times I could have chosen safety but I went onwards. My mission was to save others, to bring the most peace and health to my kin. To not be here today, to be in another place, I would suffer living as a coward. Today I die as one of the brave, a warrior for love and fairness.
There was nothing in my legs as I ascended the stairway, only a sense of panic that scattered my thoughts. The roar of the crowd that was so very loud quietens in expectation. I rest my eyes upon the dusty wooden planks below, allowing them to remind me of my grandmother's cottage, of the days I spent there as a child. And then, in that final moment before the blade, I am that child once more, innocent and free. The next seconds stretch out. There is the sound of the blade in motion, a sudden pain, and then I fall forwards into the basket, praying for my maker to catch my soul.
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