The Square

Domestic carnage, now filled the whole year

With feast-days, old men from the chimney-nook,

The maiden from the busom of her love,

The mother from the cradle of her babe,

The warrior from the field - all perished, all -

Friends, enemies, of all parties, ages, ranks,

Head after head, and never heads enough

For those that bade them fall.

William Wordsworth

She knew this was wrong, but she dared not speak a word, lest she, too, should fall victim to their machinations. She stood in the midst of the crowd, clutching her children tightly as the blade repeatedly dropped and the citizens’ cries of elation rang throughout the square. She stood as the sun burned high in the sky and she left with the barbaric townspeople. She stayed silent, revealing not the slightest hint of her true feelings. She could not and would not speak of them, for the thoughts that lingered in the deepest recesses of her mind would surely be enough to condemn not only herself, but also her children. Then came the dark hours of night, in the solace of which she could question their so-called justice system. Was this the famed Republic of France? Could they really be such monsters? It seemed they were. It did not matter who one was. They took schoolteachers, merchants and students alike. Adults and even children were subjected to the unspeakable horrors of the guillotine. She glanced at her sons, who lay huddled together underneath the thin blanket she had managed to scrounge up, and shuddered. How could people suspect others’ and even their own kin of treachery? So many of them were scarcely able to speak, yet alone plan to betray the wonderful Republic. So many deaths had occurred in the span of just a few months and she did not know how much longer she could protect herself and her children. She wondered often how things had come to be this way. She had heard of the townspeople’s plans of rebellion and had praised their ingenuity, their bravery. There had been talk of a great revolution and a revolution it had been. They had been freed from the oppressive arrogance of the nobles and the clergy as planned. This, however, had not been in their plans. They’d not intended for the bloodlust and warmongering of the radicals to consume France. But it had. The damage was done and now it was far too late to fix things. At this point in time, all they could do was wait and pray for the slaughter to end soon, one way or another. She sighed as she opened a small leather-bound book which served as a journal for her and began to write.

They called us out to the square again today…