The Lover and the Blade
Forum Home > Public : Stories > The Lover and the BladeThis is from a collaboration between myself and Andrea, a transcript of our roleplay that I've cleaned up a bit and fashioned into something of a story. Please enjoy:
"Andrea, we need to get you ready."
I get to my feet, shakily, unsure what to do. Is it time already? “Ready?” I ask, my voice hoarse. I feel my knees weaken as I stand up in my cheap, gray cotton prison dress.
"Preparation, it's not quite time yet, but we need to have you prepared. Can you turn around and place your hands behind your back please?" The young black guard asks me, her hair beautifully braded.
“Prepared? How?” I ask, trembling with fear. I turn, and do as instructed, following the grim formality of the procedure
I feel the young walk behind me and place my hands together, palms out. I feel a cold, steel cuff snapped around my right wrist. More loud clicking follows as my left wrist is cuffed as well. The guard fiddles with my hands as she double locks the cuffs.
"There are certain things we need to do before you will be ready for the procedure. Just remain calm." The older guard says, a wrinkled older white woman with jet black short hair who always smells of menthol cigarettes. Meanwhile the young guard kneels down and places a leg iron around my left ankle. She reaches across and snaps the other leg cuff around my right ankle before double locking them. There are 18 inches of thin chin between my now shackled ankles. I can feel my breathing quickening and my stomach churns in fear.
The guards come and take a firm hold of my upper arms. They also place their other hands on my shoulders. "Now be a good girl and walk with us." as they usher me forward
I can feel my bladder loosening, and tense my stomach muscles. “What things?” I gasp, panicking
I am led out of the cell and down the hallway, there is no sound but heavy footsteps and my shackles clanking against the floor. The closeness of the guards to me has a claustrophobic intimacy, and the weight of my shackles makes me shuffle and stumble. I focus, anxious not to wet myself. I am led towards the end of the hall. Above door, in all black letters I see "PREPERATION ROOM." A third guard is waiting the door and opens it for me as I am ushered inside
I try resist, panicking. “No, it is not time. It is not time. What are you going to do?”
I see an examination table with a nurse there. I also see an aluminum toilet and an open shower stall. "Relax Andrea, nobody's going to hurt you." The older guard tries to reassure me as I am led to the table.
The nurse is a woman in her late 30's, plump but with a reassuring smile and calming voice. The functional coldness of the room makes me shudder. But the guard’s words calm me a little, and I try to compose myself.
"Hello Andrea, I'm Eva." Says the nurse, "These matrons are going to remove your manacles. Just stay still, ok?"
“Yes,” I reply, reassured by her kind manner.
The older guard kneels down and begins unlocking my leg shackles. The younger guard removes the cuffs from my wrists. They both step back.
"Ok Andrea, now I'm going to need you to remove all your clothing and lay down on this table on your side."
I gasp in terror. “Remove my clothes? Why? Am I…will I be naked when…when…they take me there….”
"No no dear. You'll wear the clothes you picked out. I need to administer an enema. People void their bowels when they die, and some have done so on the way to the procedure, so this gets that out of the way. It won't hurt you, you'll just feel some pressure and in a few minutes use the toilet to release."
I stare in horror, the terrifying reality of my fate suddenly clear. I brace myself and undress, starting to sob.
"It's alright dear, it'll be alright. Now climb up on the table for me and lay on your left side."
I do as I am instructed. The terrible intimacy of the process is chilling. My god, I am horrified that I’m going to have to empty my bowels in front of these women.
I hear the nurse putting on latex gloves and moving a small rolling table of supplies toward her. She takes some petroleum jelly and begins lubricating the inside of my anus. The young guard whispers that I’m doing great while I quietly cry. In spite of the kindness and delicacy being shown, I still feel so violated.
"Now you're going to feel some pressure when I insert the hose, but it won't hurt you."
The nurse inserts the rubber hose inside my rectum and I feel immediate pressure and start to tense while the older guard implores me to relax.
"Now I'm going to flush the enema fluid up into your rectum and intestines. Again you'll feel some pressure.” The nurse says
She places the nozzle at the other end of the hose and begins the enema fluid up inside me. It takes only a couple of minutes as I feel the warm fluid jetting up. Once this is done she slowly, carefully removes the hose. Placing the hose and the nozzle in a trash bag. She gives my side a gentle rub, "Now when you feel that you're going to have a bowel movement, sit up and the guards will help you over to the toilet, you should feel the need in a minute or two.”
I try to relax, and breathe deeply to calm myself, and then suddenly my bowels start to churn, and I get to my feet, desperate not to soil myself…The guards gently take me by the arms and walk me over to the toilet, placing me on the seat and then turning around. I empty my bowels uncontrollably. The noise and the stench make me feel so shameful and humiliated, I sob my apologies, disgusted with myself.
"It's alright dear, you get it all now." The older guard says
I stay there, unsure what to so. My bowels are liquid, and the smell is unbearable. I hug myself close.
"If you're all finished you can flush Andrea." The young guard says.
I do as instructed, and look to see if there is anything to wipe myself with.
"Now you can walk over to the shower stall there and clean up. You'll find a cup of shampoo and a fresh bar of soap there for you. Just turn the handle to the left for warm water and the right for cold water."
I go and shower. For a moment, the comfort of the hot water relaxes me as I wash myself, and then start to shampoo my hair. But suddenly, it dawns on me, that very soon, I am going to be led to the condemned cell, and strapped onto the guillotine, and they are going to chop off my head. I finish showering, and step out of the stall.
The young guard walks over and hands me a white towel. "When you ready take a seat on the stool next to the table." She says warmly
I dry myself, and sit as instructed, calmed by the kind demeanor of the guards.
The nurse places a black smock around me. "Now we're going to give you a haircut. Were not cutting it all off, but you need to give you a trim." she says calmly
Confused, I look at her blankly. “Why?” I ask. “Why must you cut my hair?”
"We need your neckline to be clean. This will ensure there are no complications." The nurse says as she sprays my hair in preparation, taking up the scissors now.
“Complications? What do you mean?” A glimmer of hope suddenly appears. Perhaps I have misunderstood, and there is an appeal. “I thought I was going to be executed now?”
"The blade is powerful, but this just makes sure everything goes as planned. "She says as she begins cutting my hair, "The execution will be soon I'm afraid."
Reality dawns. My neck is to be shorn for the blade of the guillotine. In spite of their kindness, these women have a job to do, and that is to prepare me for my execution. I stare blankly ahead as the scissors chop through my hair, the feeling of the cold metal scissors against my neck sending a shiver down my spine. “Will it hurt?” I ask. “Will there be many people there to…to…watch?”
"You won't feel a thing." The older guards reassures me
I wonder what they are feeling as they prepare me. Whether they enjoy their work. “Will you be there, when it happens?” I ask nervously.
"There will be witnesses, officials from the prison, the government and a few reporters. But we'll be with you the whole time." The young guard says
I begin to sob. “I am scared. Have you been at an execution before?”
The nurse finishes cutting my curly hair, which is now just above the neckline.
"We both have, and you're being so brave." The older guard says
“What..what must I do?”
The nurse takes out a brush and continues to fashion my hair until I have something of a bob cut.
"You don't have to do anything in particular dear, just follow our instructions and keep an even keel."
I nod, and breathe deeply to calm myself. “I will try.”
The young guard holds up a mirror for me so I can see, "You look lovely, and have such beautiful salt & pepper hair." She says as the nurse brushes off the cut hair and removes the smock.
“Thank you. I haven’t had it cut since…since I was condemned. My lover used to like me to have it styled short.”
The nurse now walks in front of me with a white, padded diaper.
I again stare in shock. “But I have emptied my bowels….”
The nurse says calmly, "Yes you've voided, but some people will still urinate. This makes sure your dignity is protected." she says as she hands it to me.
Again, the humiliation and the horror return, and I see the grim terror that awaits me. With great shame I step into the diaper. “Will I urinate when…when my head is…is…chopped off. Or before?”
"It's hard to say, some will urinate when they see the device, others have some come out after the procedure. Whatever it is, nobody will be the wiser." The nurse says.
Meanwhile, the older guard walks over with a bundle of the clothes I’ve picked out. The calm, practical nature of the women settles my nerves. It is as if they are giving me a beauty treatment, and not preparing me for my execution.
She hands me the bundle, "You can go ahead and get dressed now Andrea."
I take my clothes. They are what I wore at my trial. Stylish, yet not too chic. I put on a white silk bra, a black, sleeveless dress that runs to my knees and black flats. Sadly they don’t allow my to wear my nylons. Feeling a little more relaxed and curious, I ask “How will I be fixed to…to the device?”
"There will be leather straps that secure you to the board. They'll be fastened tight, might be a bit uncomfortable but they won't hurt you." The older guard says
I have a sense of unreality, and my fear is diminishing, as if this is some kind of theatrical event. “Will you fasten me in place?” I ask.
"It will be our task to get you fastened, and then lower the board. From there the executioner will take over." The young guard says.
"Ok Andrea, we need to get you to the death watch cell now. Can you place your hands out in front of you please?”
Hearing the word executioner makes me shudder. I sadly place my hands in front of me as directed. The older guard places a pair of handcuffs around my wrists before double locking them. Meanwhile the younger guard kneels down and reapplies the 18 inch leg irons to my ankles. Once they are fastened on the young guard carefully double locks them. Restrained, I begin to tremble a little, and notice a professional determination in the guards’ demeanor as they pinion me. In spite of their calm and kind presence, they are focused on getting the job done.
Nurse Eva comes over, giving me a hug and a soft peck on my cheek. "Good luck to you Andrea, God go with you." She says as she steps away
“Thank you,” I mumble, surprised at the suddenness of her departure. “Will …will you be there to watch?” I stammer, but Eva doesn’t answer me.
The guards take a hold of my upper arms with each of their hands. Their grip is gentle but firm as they motion me to walk forward. I’m led away without another word, the nurse staying behind to clean up.
I can sense a change in the mood, and pace, and try to brace myself. The two guards see me as a condemned criminal, and it is their duty to ensure I am executed according to the law. I am quietly led back down the hall, no sound but for my leg irons jingling with my short, labored steps. I see an empty hallway now, save for a large, black steel door. About 100 yards in front of that, along the wall is a small, clean cell. I shuffle forward resignedly, facing the cell. My mouth is dry, and I can feel my bladder relax. The young guard continues holding me as the older guard unlocks the cell door.
“Is it …. Is it time now?” I stammer.
"They'll be here in a few minutes to get you." The guards say as they gently pull me into the cell, closing the door behind them.
The guards release me from handcuffs and shackles. I see a brown leather strap sitting on the table in the corner. I begin to feel panic building up. I sit down, and start trembling.
“What is that for?” I ask, indicating the strap.
The younger guard motions over, "When the warden comes, I'll use that strap to pin your hands behind your back. But as long as you keep calm we won't need the leg irons."
I nod, my mouth too dry to speak. My legs are shaking, and I think I might wet myself. The older guard puts her hand on my shoulder and begins to give it a reassuring rub "It's going to be alright dear, you won't feel a thing and it'll be over quick.”
“Please, no, please. I don’t want them to chop off my head…”
She takes a hip flask out, "I've got coconut rum in here, it'll warm you up and calm your nerves a bit." She says as she holds it out to me.
“No, please, I’m scared. Please. I don’t want to die.”
The young guard sits on the other side of me, "I know you're scared Andrea, but we've got you. We'll stick with you the whole way, but you need to be brave. Don't let them see you scared."
"We all die my dear," The older guard says, "Everybody has to take this journey. Nobody gets to choose when, and when most people go it'll hurt a lot more than this will. I'm sorry dear but this is going to happen. The best you can do is show dignity and courage now."
I can feel hysteria building. This cannot be happening.
“But no, not this, not my head. Please…”
With an almost deafening bang I hear doors opening and footsteps approaching. The warden has arrived with the prison doctor, a chaplain and a government official. I hear the cell door unlocked as it opens. I feel overwhelmed with panic and try to struggle to my feet. “No, please, no, I am not ready, please, no….”
The warden is standing at the entrance to the cell.
I can hear my voice rising. “No, please, I am not ready, please….”
"It's time" He says very calmly and professionally. The young guard goes and gets the leather strap.
"Andrea, place your hands behind your back." the young guard says in a calm voice
“No, no, please…” I try to step away from her….
The two guards look at each other, and very quickly they get a hold of me and press me against the wall. The older guard pins me against the wall while the younger guard forces my arms behind my back.
"Don't struggle dear." The older guard says
I vainly try to resist, and begin sobbing. “Please, no, please don’t do this….”
The young guard manages to hold my wrists together, palms out and begins wrapping the leather strap. It loops twice around my wrists before being buckled tight. The strap is very tight and I have no ability to move my arms. The guards gently turn me towards the cell door as the government official steps forward. I am unable to resist and feel my legs trembling. I hyperventilate and try desperately to calm myself.
"Andrea Renoir," he begins solemnly, "You have been convicted of murder, the penalty for which is death by decapitation. There have been no reprieves, therefore on this day, the 19th of July, 1972 your execution will proceed as stipulated under the laws of France. Do you have any final statements before sentence is carried out?"
The gravity of the official’s words cause me to stop struggling, and I listen to the grim sentence being spoken. I try to speak with dignity, “I am sorry for what I did, but, were I to have my time again, I would do the same. Felix was my love, but he betrayed me.”
The government official and the warden nod at each other, "follow us please." The warden says. I feel the guards grip my upper arms with both of their hands. The young guard gives my arm a reassuring squeeze and whispers, "Ok Andrea, one foot in front of the other now."
In something of a dazed trance, I follow the two men. I am led out of the cell and towards the black steel door. The chaplain quietly recites prayers for my eternal soul as I approach the door. There is a guard positioned at the door, which he dutifully opens and I am led out into the prison yard. I feel myself being irresistibly moved along by the two guard. There, in the middle of the prison yard is the guillotine, it's board up and ready to receive me. I see the grim device of death upon the raised platform and my knees give way.
The guards have me and don't allow me to fall. They get me back to my feet and hold me up, "It'll be alright dear," The older guard says, “just look down and focus on your steps.”
I feel a warm dampness around the top of my inner thighs, and shamefully realize I have wet myself. I begin to sob. The guards guide me on, they're both very strong and carry me a few steps whenever my legs give out. As I get closer I see a solemn group of men and women gathered on either side of the guillotine. I look desperately around the faces of the people by the device. They show a mixture of pity and disdain. And, in some cases, a lascivious anticipation. I shudder as I remember hearing that some people were aroused by watching executions.
I see the board has several leather belts attached to it as I am led up to it. The grim solemnity of the executioner has a strange, calming effect upon me, and I make the last steps towards the guillotine without stumbling. As I am led to the board, the wispy thin, surprisingly young executioner comes to me, "Madame, I am Monsieur DuBois. I will be looking after you. Do not be frightened,” He says as he nods to the guards.
I am unable to speak. I can feel my bladder fully release, and I try to stand firm and upright. I am pressed against the board gently and the two guards begin strapping me in. The older guard pulls a thick belt across my shoulders, just below the blades and buckle it tight. Meanwhile the younger guard pulls a strap across my ankles and buckles them in. The older guard then moves to the middle of my back and pulls another thick belt across it. Meanwhile the younger guard pulls a belt across the back of my knees. Both are fastened and buckled securely.
The proximity of the guards and their firm hands upon me are somehow comforting, and despite being tight all the leather is not hurting me. I breathe in and out, to steady myself. The younger guard pulls a thicker belt and fastens it across my upper thighs, just below my butt before fastening it tight. The older guard then pulls the last, thick belt across my waist, just above my strapped hands and buckles it into place.
The executioner then steps around to inspect. He nods and the guards take hold of each side of the board. I breathe in deeply, and stretch my head upwards. I suddenly feel the world fall out from me as the board is swung down, leaving me now parallel to the ground. I am carefully rolled forward. The executioner raises the block where my head and neck will go. I gasp at the sudden movement, and begin to tremble uncontrollably. This is it. They are going to chop off my head! My head is moved through the block until it lines up with my neck. I look below to see the metal trough where my head will fall and all my blood will drain. The block is closed snugly around my neck and fastened into place. I am now shaking uncontrollably. I try to stretch my neck as long as I can, feeling every sinew, soon to be severed by the falling blade. I can sense the eyes of all those around the guillotine fixed on me in grim anticipation….
"Goodbye Andrea." The young guard tearfully whispers as she and the older guard step away from me.
The executioner is now out of site, by the leaver which will spring the blade. I mumble farewell and close my eyes tight and clench my hands together….
Moments seem like ages, the final seconds of terror now upon me. At a nodding from the warden, the lever is sprung. I can hear the large blade rush towards me. I feel a tremendous, pressurized force upon the back of my neck, complete numbness and a falling, spinning sensation in my last few seconds of consciousness. Then… oblivion.
"Andrea, we need to get you ready."
I get to my feet, shakily, unsure what to do. Is it time already? “Ready?” I ask, my voice hoarse. I feel my knees weaken as I stand up in my cheap, gray cotton prison dress.
"Preparation, it's not quite time yet, but we need to have you prepared. Can you turn around and place your hands behind your back please?" The young black guard asks me, her hair beautifully braded.
“Prepared? How?” I ask, trembling with fear. I turn, and do as instructed, following the grim formality of the procedure
I feel the young walk behind me and place my hands together, palms out. I feel a cold, steel cuff snapped around my right wrist. More loud clicking follows as my left wrist is cuffed as well. The guard fiddles with my hands as she double locks the cuffs.
"There are certain things we need to do before you will be ready for the procedure. Just remain calm." The older guard says, a wrinkled older white woman with jet black short hair who always smells of menthol cigarettes. Meanwhile the young guard kneels down and places a leg iron around my left ankle. She reaches across and snaps the other leg cuff around my right ankle before double locking them. There are 18 inches of thin chin between my now shackled ankles. I can feel my breathing quickening and my stomach churns in fear.
The guards come and take a firm hold of my upper arms. They also place their other hands on my shoulders. "Now be a good girl and walk with us." as they usher me forward
I can feel my bladder loosening, and tense my stomach muscles. “What things?” I gasp, panicking
I am led out of the cell and down the hallway, there is no sound but heavy footsteps and my shackles clanking against the floor. The closeness of the guards to me has a claustrophobic intimacy, and the weight of my shackles makes me shuffle and stumble. I focus, anxious not to wet myself. I am led towards the end of the hall. Above door, in all black letters I see "PREPERATION ROOM." A third guard is waiting the door and opens it for me as I am ushered inside
I try resist, panicking. “No, it is not time. It is not time. What are you going to do?”
I see an examination table with a nurse there. I also see an aluminum toilet and an open shower stall. "Relax Andrea, nobody's going to hurt you." The older guard tries to reassure me as I am led to the table.
The nurse is a woman in her late 30's, plump but with a reassuring smile and calming voice. The functional coldness of the room makes me shudder. But the guard’s words calm me a little, and I try to compose myself.
"Hello Andrea, I'm Eva." Says the nurse, "These matrons are going to remove your manacles. Just stay still, ok?"
“Yes,” I reply, reassured by her kind manner.
The older guard kneels down and begins unlocking my leg shackles. The younger guard removes the cuffs from my wrists. They both step back.
"Ok Andrea, now I'm going to need you to remove all your clothing and lay down on this table on your side."
I gasp in terror. “Remove my clothes? Why? Am I…will I be naked when…when…they take me there….”
"No no dear. You'll wear the clothes you picked out. I need to administer an enema. People void their bowels when they die, and some have done so on the way to the procedure, so this gets that out of the way. It won't hurt you, you'll just feel some pressure and in a few minutes use the toilet to release."
I stare in horror, the terrifying reality of my fate suddenly clear. I brace myself and undress, starting to sob.
"It's alright dear, it'll be alright. Now climb up on the table for me and lay on your left side."
I do as I am instructed. The terrible intimacy of the process is chilling. My god, I am horrified that I’m going to have to empty my bowels in front of these women.
I hear the nurse putting on latex gloves and moving a small rolling table of supplies toward her. She takes some petroleum jelly and begins lubricating the inside of my anus. The young guard whispers that I’m doing great while I quietly cry. In spite of the kindness and delicacy being shown, I still feel so violated.
"Now you're going to feel some pressure when I insert the hose, but it won't hurt you."
The nurse inserts the rubber hose inside my rectum and I feel immediate pressure and start to tense while the older guard implores me to relax.
"Now I'm going to flush the enema fluid up into your rectum and intestines. Again you'll feel some pressure.” The nurse says
She places the nozzle at the other end of the hose and begins the enema fluid up inside me. It takes only a couple of minutes as I feel the warm fluid jetting up. Once this is done she slowly, carefully removes the hose. Placing the hose and the nozzle in a trash bag. She gives my side a gentle rub, "Now when you feel that you're going to have a bowel movement, sit up and the guards will help you over to the toilet, you should feel the need in a minute or two.”
I try to relax, and breathe deeply to calm myself, and then suddenly my bowels start to churn, and I get to my feet, desperate not to soil myself…The guards gently take me by the arms and walk me over to the toilet, placing me on the seat and then turning around. I empty my bowels uncontrollably. The noise and the stench make me feel so shameful and humiliated, I sob my apologies, disgusted with myself.
"It's alright dear, you get it all now." The older guard says
I stay there, unsure what to so. My bowels are liquid, and the smell is unbearable. I hug myself close.
"If you're all finished you can flush Andrea." The young guard says.
I do as instructed, and look to see if there is anything to wipe myself with.
"Now you can walk over to the shower stall there and clean up. You'll find a cup of shampoo and a fresh bar of soap there for you. Just turn the handle to the left for warm water and the right for cold water."
I go and shower. For a moment, the comfort of the hot water relaxes me as I wash myself, and then start to shampoo my hair. But suddenly, it dawns on me, that very soon, I am going to be led to the condemned cell, and strapped onto the guillotine, and they are going to chop off my head. I finish showering, and step out of the stall.
The young guard walks over and hands me a white towel. "When you ready take a seat on the stool next to the table." She says warmly
I dry myself, and sit as instructed, calmed by the kind demeanor of the guards.
The nurse places a black smock around me. "Now we're going to give you a haircut. Were not cutting it all off, but you need to give you a trim." she says calmly
Confused, I look at her blankly. “Why?” I ask. “Why must you cut my hair?”
"We need your neckline to be clean. This will ensure there are no complications." The nurse says as she sprays my hair in preparation, taking up the scissors now.
“Complications? What do you mean?” A glimmer of hope suddenly appears. Perhaps I have misunderstood, and there is an appeal. “I thought I was going to be executed now?”
"The blade is powerful, but this just makes sure everything goes as planned. "She says as she begins cutting my hair, "The execution will be soon I'm afraid."
Reality dawns. My neck is to be shorn for the blade of the guillotine. In spite of their kindness, these women have a job to do, and that is to prepare me for my execution. I stare blankly ahead as the scissors chop through my hair, the feeling of the cold metal scissors against my neck sending a shiver down my spine. “Will it hurt?” I ask. “Will there be many people there to…to…watch?”
"You won't feel a thing." The older guards reassures me
I wonder what they are feeling as they prepare me. Whether they enjoy their work. “Will you be there, when it happens?” I ask nervously.
"There will be witnesses, officials from the prison, the government and a few reporters. But we'll be with you the whole time." The young guard says
I begin to sob. “I am scared. Have you been at an execution before?”
The nurse finishes cutting my curly hair, which is now just above the neckline.
"We both have, and you're being so brave." The older guard says
“What..what must I do?”
The nurse takes out a brush and continues to fashion my hair until I have something of a bob cut.
"You don't have to do anything in particular dear, just follow our instructions and keep an even keel."
I nod, and breathe deeply to calm myself. “I will try.”
The young guard holds up a mirror for me so I can see, "You look lovely, and have such beautiful salt & pepper hair." She says as the nurse brushes off the cut hair and removes the smock.
“Thank you. I haven’t had it cut since…since I was condemned. My lover used to like me to have it styled short.”
The nurse now walks in front of me with a white, padded diaper.
I again stare in shock. “But I have emptied my bowels….”
The nurse says calmly, "Yes you've voided, but some people will still urinate. This makes sure your dignity is protected." she says as she hands it to me.
Again, the humiliation and the horror return, and I see the grim terror that awaits me. With great shame I step into the diaper. “Will I urinate when…when my head is…is…chopped off. Or before?”
"It's hard to say, some will urinate when they see the device, others have some come out after the procedure. Whatever it is, nobody will be the wiser." The nurse says.
Meanwhile, the older guard walks over with a bundle of the clothes I’ve picked out. The calm, practical nature of the women settles my nerves. It is as if they are giving me a beauty treatment, and not preparing me for my execution.
She hands me the bundle, "You can go ahead and get dressed now Andrea."
I take my clothes. They are what I wore at my trial. Stylish, yet not too chic. I put on a white silk bra, a black, sleeveless dress that runs to my knees and black flats. Sadly they don’t allow my to wear my nylons. Feeling a little more relaxed and curious, I ask “How will I be fixed to…to the device?”
"There will be leather straps that secure you to the board. They'll be fastened tight, might be a bit uncomfortable but they won't hurt you." The older guard says
I have a sense of unreality, and my fear is diminishing, as if this is some kind of theatrical event. “Will you fasten me in place?” I ask.
"It will be our task to get you fastened, and then lower the board. From there the executioner will take over." The young guard says.
"Ok Andrea, we need to get you to the death watch cell now. Can you place your hands out in front of you please?”
Hearing the word executioner makes me shudder. I sadly place my hands in front of me as directed. The older guard places a pair of handcuffs around my wrists before double locking them. Meanwhile the younger guard kneels down and reapplies the 18 inch leg irons to my ankles. Once they are fastened on the young guard carefully double locks them. Restrained, I begin to tremble a little, and notice a professional determination in the guards’ demeanor as they pinion me. In spite of their calm and kind presence, they are focused on getting the job done.
Nurse Eva comes over, giving me a hug and a soft peck on my cheek. "Good luck to you Andrea, God go with you." She says as she steps away
“Thank you,” I mumble, surprised at the suddenness of her departure. “Will …will you be there to watch?” I stammer, but Eva doesn’t answer me.
The guards take a hold of my upper arms with each of their hands. Their grip is gentle but firm as they motion me to walk forward. I’m led away without another word, the nurse staying behind to clean up.
I can sense a change in the mood, and pace, and try to brace myself. The two guards see me as a condemned criminal, and it is their duty to ensure I am executed according to the law. I am quietly led back down the hall, no sound but for my leg irons jingling with my short, labored steps. I see an empty hallway now, save for a large, black steel door. About 100 yards in front of that, along the wall is a small, clean cell. I shuffle forward resignedly, facing the cell. My mouth is dry, and I can feel my bladder relax. The young guard continues holding me as the older guard unlocks the cell door.
“Is it …. Is it time now?” I stammer.
"They'll be here in a few minutes to get you." The guards say as they gently pull me into the cell, closing the door behind them.
The guards release me from handcuffs and shackles. I see a brown leather strap sitting on the table in the corner. I begin to feel panic building up. I sit down, and start trembling.
“What is that for?” I ask, indicating the strap.
The younger guard motions over, "When the warden comes, I'll use that strap to pin your hands behind your back. But as long as you keep calm we won't need the leg irons."
I nod, my mouth too dry to speak. My legs are shaking, and I think I might wet myself. The older guard puts her hand on my shoulder and begins to give it a reassuring rub "It's going to be alright dear, you won't feel a thing and it'll be over quick.”
“Please, no, please. I don’t want them to chop off my head…”
She takes a hip flask out, "I've got coconut rum in here, it'll warm you up and calm your nerves a bit." She says as she holds it out to me.
“No, please, I’m scared. Please. I don’t want to die.”
The young guard sits on the other side of me, "I know you're scared Andrea, but we've got you. We'll stick with you the whole way, but you need to be brave. Don't let them see you scared."
"We all die my dear," The older guard says, "Everybody has to take this journey. Nobody gets to choose when, and when most people go it'll hurt a lot more than this will. I'm sorry dear but this is going to happen. The best you can do is show dignity and courage now."
I can feel hysteria building. This cannot be happening.
“But no, not this, not my head. Please…”
With an almost deafening bang I hear doors opening and footsteps approaching. The warden has arrived with the prison doctor, a chaplain and a government official. I hear the cell door unlocked as it opens. I feel overwhelmed with panic and try to struggle to my feet. “No, please, no, I am not ready, please, no….”
The warden is standing at the entrance to the cell.
I can hear my voice rising. “No, please, I am not ready, please….”
"It's time" He says very calmly and professionally. The young guard goes and gets the leather strap.
"Andrea, place your hands behind your back." the young guard says in a calm voice
“No, no, please…” I try to step away from her….
The two guards look at each other, and very quickly they get a hold of me and press me against the wall. The older guard pins me against the wall while the younger guard forces my arms behind my back.
"Don't struggle dear." The older guard says
I vainly try to resist, and begin sobbing. “Please, no, please don’t do this….”
The young guard manages to hold my wrists together, palms out and begins wrapping the leather strap. It loops twice around my wrists before being buckled tight. The strap is very tight and I have no ability to move my arms. The guards gently turn me towards the cell door as the government official steps forward. I am unable to resist and feel my legs trembling. I hyperventilate and try desperately to calm myself.
"Andrea Renoir," he begins solemnly, "You have been convicted of murder, the penalty for which is death by decapitation. There have been no reprieves, therefore on this day, the 19th of July, 1972 your execution will proceed as stipulated under the laws of France. Do you have any final statements before sentence is carried out?"
The gravity of the official’s words cause me to stop struggling, and I listen to the grim sentence being spoken. I try to speak with dignity, “I am sorry for what I did, but, were I to have my time again, I would do the same. Felix was my love, but he betrayed me.”
The government official and the warden nod at each other, "follow us please." The warden says. I feel the guards grip my upper arms with both of their hands. The young guard gives my arm a reassuring squeeze and whispers, "Ok Andrea, one foot in front of the other now."
In something of a dazed trance, I follow the two men. I am led out of the cell and towards the black steel door. The chaplain quietly recites prayers for my eternal soul as I approach the door. There is a guard positioned at the door, which he dutifully opens and I am led out into the prison yard. I feel myself being irresistibly moved along by the two guard. There, in the middle of the prison yard is the guillotine, it's board up and ready to receive me. I see the grim device of death upon the raised platform and my knees give way.
The guards have me and don't allow me to fall. They get me back to my feet and hold me up, "It'll be alright dear," The older guard says, “just look down and focus on your steps.”
I feel a warm dampness around the top of my inner thighs, and shamefully realize I have wet myself. I begin to sob. The guards guide me on, they're both very strong and carry me a few steps whenever my legs give out. As I get closer I see a solemn group of men and women gathered on either side of the guillotine. I look desperately around the faces of the people by the device. They show a mixture of pity and disdain. And, in some cases, a lascivious anticipation. I shudder as I remember hearing that some people were aroused by watching executions.
I see the board has several leather belts attached to it as I am led up to it. The grim solemnity of the executioner has a strange, calming effect upon me, and I make the last steps towards the guillotine without stumbling. As I am led to the board, the wispy thin, surprisingly young executioner comes to me, "Madame, I am Monsieur DuBois. I will be looking after you. Do not be frightened,” He says as he nods to the guards.
I am unable to speak. I can feel my bladder fully release, and I try to stand firm and upright. I am pressed against the board gently and the two guards begin strapping me in. The older guard pulls a thick belt across my shoulders, just below the blades and buckle it tight. Meanwhile the younger guard pulls a strap across my ankles and buckles them in. The older guard then moves to the middle of my back and pulls another thick belt across it. Meanwhile the younger guard pulls a belt across the back of my knees. Both are fastened and buckled securely.
The proximity of the guards and their firm hands upon me are somehow comforting, and despite being tight all the leather is not hurting me. I breathe in and out, to steady myself. The younger guard pulls a thicker belt and fastens it across my upper thighs, just below my butt before fastening it tight. The older guard then pulls the last, thick belt across my waist, just above my strapped hands and buckles it into place.
The executioner then steps around to inspect. He nods and the guards take hold of each side of the board. I breathe in deeply, and stretch my head upwards. I suddenly feel the world fall out from me as the board is swung down, leaving me now parallel to the ground. I am carefully rolled forward. The executioner raises the block where my head and neck will go. I gasp at the sudden movement, and begin to tremble uncontrollably. This is it. They are going to chop off my head! My head is moved through the block until it lines up with my neck. I look below to see the metal trough where my head will fall and all my blood will drain. The block is closed snugly around my neck and fastened into place. I am now shaking uncontrollably. I try to stretch my neck as long as I can, feeling every sinew, soon to be severed by the falling blade. I can sense the eyes of all those around the guillotine fixed on me in grim anticipation….
"Goodbye Andrea." The young guard tearfully whispers as she and the older guard step away from me.
The executioner is now out of site, by the leaver which will spring the blade. I mumble farewell and close my eyes tight and clench my hands together….
Moments seem like ages, the final seconds of terror now upon me. At a nodding from the warden, the lever is sprung. I can hear the large blade rush towards me. I feel a tremendous, pressurized force upon the back of my neck, complete numbness and a falling, spinning sensation in my last few seconds of consciousness. Then… oblivion.
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