I Am.

I was, and still am, disgusted by it all. The death, the politics, but especially him. Jean-Paul Marat, the man behind the paper. He killed so many, it made me sick. ‘The Friend of the People’. Ha. He was the death of the people, the killer of thousands. He made heads roll and blood cover the streets. He pushed the death count to past the twenty thousands, and I was ready to end it myself if I had to. 

So why don’t I?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sat quietly in my wooden chair at the self-proclaimed ‘Girondist’ convention, listening to the leader speak. His voice was nice, I suppose, but it had a quality to it that was too commanding, too powerful. I couldn’t really focus on what he was saying, at least until I heard the softly spoken, yet furious words.

“...They are killing by the hundreds. The king and queen were enough at first, but now it seems that anyone suspected of anti-revolutionary action is being guillotined. What’s more is a former scientist, you all should know his name, has taken their side. He is currently running a newspaper called ‘The Friend of the People’, which lists the names of supposed ‘enemies’. They are taken to the guillotine the next day. I believe that we should take control, that we should dam the blood of our people from flooding the streets of Great France! They are no better, if not worse than the King! What say you, my people? Shall we prevent disaster before it starts, or should we let the blood of thousands run up to our thighs? What say you, my people, the true people of France?”

There was a huge roaring of approval from the assembled members, while I stayed silent. I was shocked at first, but then stood, yelling to the crowd partially, but mostly to the leader.

“We are the Saviors of France! We shall not let the blood of our own stain our shoes, let alone touch them! We stand together, or I will stand alone against them! I will kill this scientist myself if I have to! Let us overthrow these idiots!”

I glared defiantly at any Girondist who dared look me in the eye. I then turned to their leader, and curtsied slightly, and said, “I am very sorry, sir. I believe that this man, Marat, needs to be stopped. Thank you for broadening my perspective on this matter.”

Even though my words were defiant and hard, I looked him dead in the eyes with a look of respect that could only be translated into something along the lines of I am truly sorry for my outburst. I admire your bravery to speak out in these dark times. I remained in that position with my knees bent slightly, ankles crossed, and my skirt slightly spread to the side for a good ten seconds. I then bowed my head and turned to leave. I could feel the eyes of assembled critics, men, women, and peasants burning holes into my back. Did I care? Not in the slightest. I held my head high, although my eyes flickered back towards the meeting quite a few times. Once I was out of the sight of those people, I collapsed to my knees, panting with the feeling of excitement, pride, and energy fading away.

After a few minutes, I smiled. I did say, that I would take whatever risks necessary to clean France of the foul man named Jean-Paul Marat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. I was finally a quarter of the way finished with my plans. I glanced anxiously behind me, slightly worried that someone was going to break into my house and execute me for treachery. No, this is not the time to be paranoid. I promised myself that I would not stop, that I would risk everything to kill this man. I had to protect my country!

I glanced once more at my notes, and rolled my eyes. I snatched a hair ribbon from a drawer, and tied it around those two pieces of paper that meant the world to me. I looked over my shoulder once more, then stashed my plans in a crack behind my wall mirror. Standing up, I stared into the mirror, wondering. Is this what a killer looks like? What has the world come to, women being forced to kill because no one else is brave enough to face the tyranny? I shook my head, and let my feet take me to the edge of my bed. I suddenly collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably. This is what a killer looks like. I might go down in history because of this, might be written about with incorrect facts, may be called a traitor...

No, I won’t think like that. I can’t think like that if I want my plan to work! I won’t!

I suddenly stopped crying, and fell back onto my bed, simply staring at the ceiling. I had to stay strong, no matter what the cost. Because in three months, a man is going to die by my hand.

Two months until the assassination...

“NO!” I exclaimed, staring at the paper. I had been monitoring ‘The Friend of the People’ closely over the past month, scanning the lists for people that I might know. Over the month, I found nothing. But today, today I found precisely what I hoped not to. Pierre Victurnien Vergniaud, the man who convinced me to rebel was the first name on the list. The first to be executed.

I suddenly jumped out of my chair, startling a few stray pigeons that had wandered in. They flew out of the window, making their strange chortling coo. How nice it would be, free as the birds, not having the threat of a guillotine hanging over my head. I pondered this for a few seconds, then turned, rushing out of the open door.

I arrived at the guillotine in less than five minutes, noting how there was already a huge crowd. I did not spare much of my attention for this however, as I was scanning the platform intently for the executioner... and a certain Girondist leader. I remained in that spot, searching, wondering, almost going crazy with the need to know.

After forever seemed to pass, the Executioner emerged from behind the steps, arms raised above his head, hands clenched into fists. Each step he took, he let out a great yell of victory. Each step he took, the crowd gave a giant cheer back. I remained quiet, pretending to cheer, but my attention was solely directed towards the stairs - and who would walk out next.

My heart dropped out of my chest. I was astonished at who was walking up the stairs. Slowly, carefully, yet proudly, Pierre Victurnien Vergniaud strode over to the guillotine, closed his eyes, and waited for instruction. He looked slightly pained, but he seemed quite annoyed at getting caught. My musings were interrupted by a harsh order to stand.

“Get up, you scum!!”

This order was a bit unnecessary, for Pierre was already standing. He was roughly shoved around, and a small blade sliced through his hair, leaving it cut off at the top of the neck.

“Now! You lay down right here,-” The executioner said a word (probably an insult of some sort) in a language that suspiciously sounded like Spanish, “- And then it shall be done!”

Pierre smirked slightly at his executioner, leaving him confused. Pierre then lay down on the board that led to the shining and impossibly sharp blade that would end his life. As the board slid into place, he looked up into the crowd, and saw me standing in the very front. As I gave him a look of hopelessness, he caught my gaze and nodded once. He approved my request to kill Marat.

As I locked eyes with him, I nearly let out a sob. I remembered a secret event that took place fifteen days ago...

“Pierre! Where are you? I need-”

I was abruptly cut off by a man tapping my shoulder from behind. I shrieked, and spun around, ready to feebly attack the one who terrified me. I nearly hit him with my fist before I noticed that it was Pierre who was following me. He laughed, while I leaned against the wall and glared at him while he slowly calmed down.

“Well, You certainly scare easily. I assume you are here for something, so spit it out. What could possibly bring you to our base in the middle of the night?”

I glanced outside. Sure enough, the moon was directly above. I frowned.

“That’s... beside the point. I have a request for you to approve of. Here, look at it.”

I handed him my assassination plans. It was his turn to frown.

“Are you positively sure of this? After all, it’s practically a suicide attempt, stabbing him in the middle of a meeting, and besides, you’re a-”

I cut him off mid-sentence. “A girl?” I snorted derisively. “No, I’m a woman, and a woman would raise less suspicion. Do you not agree?”

He paused, then spoke again, now completely somber. “I was going to say ‘female’, and not exactly. They will not care whether you are female or not, they will drag you to the guillotine immediately...”

I gave him a hard, determined look. “I promised myself and the rest of France that I would kill Marat, no matter what it takes. I am going to kill him anyway, I don’t really care if I have your approval or not. I just believed that you should know.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “Fine. Just give me some time to think about it.”

I nodded at him, and we parted ways.

I looked at him, he looked back. Tears suddenly filled my eyes. I couldn’t stand seeing him there, approving my assassination of another man on his deathbed... Rather, plank. I stepped back, away from him. I couldn’t bear to watch, but I had to. I had to remain strong... strong, in the face of death. I backed up, watched as Pierre lay his head down again. I could only look on in horror at the executioner’s hand, which seemed to move in slow motion. He pulled the rope, and the blade flashed down with lightning speed. The world was moving with too much speed now... I could hardly handle it, and barely heard Pierre’s shouted last words.

“I die with PRIDE!!”

My mind couldn’t handle the spinning colors any longer. The world blew the thoughts, the memory, the life from me, at least temporarily. In short, I passed out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I awoke in my own bed, surprisingly. Groaning and touching the back of my head gingerly, I swung my legs around and out of the sheets. I ripped my sleeping hat off, and ran to my cleansing room. I couldn’t handle staying still anymore.

I splashed cold, nearly frozen water on my face and muttered curses whenever the pinprick-invoking liquid touched my skin. When I was finished, I climbed into a warm bath, simply thinking, feeling the relief of my tense muscles loosening. I cleaned the dirt and dust from my skin, and simply thought about my predicament. If I did not get this killing over with, I would surely go insane. My family was surely dead by now, and now Pierre’s head was separated from his body. I sighed. Surely they were looking after me, laughing at my pain, my indecision. My mind wouldn’t be able to stand this pain much longer. Leaning my head on the back of the tub, I suddenly realized something. It was Bastille day! The storming of the towering prison, the fire, it was all fresh in my mind. It was also, quite sadly, a national holiday.

“M-”

I suddenly jumped out of the tub, still sopping wet. I had to make it to the festival before I was deemed an anti-revolutionary. I quickly grabbed a towel and dried off. I dressed into my best clothes and ran out of the house. This should be fun...

One month until the assassination...

I paced nervously around my room. My plan had to be completely changed. Marat had a skin condition which caused him to spend most of his time in herbal baths. He could not attend meetings, therefore he could not be killed in front of the newfound leaders of France. My steps were getting more anxious by the second. Finally, I just stomped, stared at the huge domed ceiling of the old, surprisingly still intact church. It shocked me that Robespierre and his tyrannic group of leaders had not torn it down yet.

My plan... It had to be reworked completely.

I sat down on a stone bench and thought to myself. What if I killed him at his evening meal...? No, horrible plan. I most likely would not be given a trial for that. I had a dagger... I could stab him while he was in one of his baths. I could deliver a fake list... Yes! That wouldn’t grab as much attention, but it would effectively silence the voice of Jean-Paul Marat.

I would silence him forever.

I would take one life to save a hundred thousand.

I strode out of the room confidently, not thinking of the irony. I planned a murder in a church.

Once I made it to my house, I flew into my bed in my dress, not caring about changing my clothes. I was ready to kill him. All I needed now was a list...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Uuughh...” I groaned, not really wanting to move. I was currently laying in my bed, tangled among the covers. Serves me right for not changing in my bedclothes. Why didn’t I change? I couldn’t quite remember... It took me a few minutes, wiping the sleep from the corners of my eyes, blinking, simply adjusting to the morning before I realized why I had fallen asleep so quickly. I needed a fake list! I hurried out of the bed, attempting to untangle myself from the sheets. After a few tugs, the light covers pulled free. I smoothed the wrinkles from my dress, then gave up trying and rushed into the closet to find a new garment for the day. I may have been a part of the Third Estate, but I was no peasant. My family was a part of the upper third estate, and had enough money to get by in the undecidedly darker times of the Revolution.

After I had changed, I set out to find a piece of paper. I needed to write down the names of loyal, yet fairly unknown Jacobins. If I was going to die, I would take down as many bloodthirsty monsters with me as possible.

My list was growing quickly. With each name that I scrawled down on my piece of parchment, I grew more confident in my plan. It would work. It had to. They would find an empty room, with Marat dead in his bathtub. Most importantly, they would find the list of ‘anti-revolutionaries’. They would be separated from their heads soon enough, and I would have taken down many of the monsters in our ‘Revolution’. I just have to be patient.... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One day until the assassination...

This was it. I have to kill a man. Am I ready? Even I’m not quite sure. But I had to be ready. I couldn’t back out now, I had been planning for three months. I will not be a coward.

I have been pacing quite a lot over the past week or so. My temper was short, and it seemed like stress was wearing me down to the brink of insanity. If you searched my house, you would probably find random bits of hair strewn out thinly on the floor where I had pulled my hair. I even considered changing my plan to the classic ‘Murder in the night’, but I later decided against it. Many people would be guillotined for suspicion, most likely ones that support my cause. So I did away with that plan, and all traces of it that remained in my head. I was losing my nerve. I still hated Marat with a passion, but I was losing the will to actually kill him.

I sighed. Another thing that I had been doing a lot. I was no actress, I couldn’t tuck my emotions away behind a veil. I didn’t want to try, either. Everyone would suspect something, and my plan could not work.

Closing my eyes briefly, I stood up, and put on my best dress. Today is the day that I am going to kill Marat. I almost giggled at the hilarity, a murder in my best dress. I then winced. Was I going mad? It almost didn’t matter, I was certainly going to die.

“Here I go...” I murmured to myself. I tucked my dagger into the bodice of my gown, making sure it didn’t touch my skin. I walked out the archway of my room, list tightly but carefully clutched in my hand.

As I strode through the town, I carefully watched the people. Some of them turned their heads towards me in indifference. Most didn’t look my way at all. It wasn’t surprising. I was a nobody, someone unknown. It would remain that way until tomorrow. Tomorrow, the whole country would know my name. They would whisper it with hate, malice dripping from their foul faces. They would call me an anti-saint, the killer of a savior. I wasn’t quite sure if I was being paranoid, but I couldn’t quite control my anxiety.

I finally arrived at his house. Carefully schooling my face into a calm demeanor, I knocked, one, two, three times. I waited for a few seconds before a woman with a tight, pointy face opened up. I stared at her for a few seconds before shaking my head slightly and speaking.

“I’m here to see Jean-Paul. I have a list of witnessed anti-revolutionaries that I have been recording over the past few months.”

She squinted at me before replying in a tight, high pitched, squeaky voice, “Oh, I’m very sorry. Jean-Paul isn’t available right now. He’s currently in one of his baths, and I refuse to let him see women. Goodbye, now!” And she continued to slam the door in my face. I blinked, shocked. I certainly didn’t expect that. A part of me sighed in relief, while the other screamed in annoyance. I wouldn’t get it over with today! I felt like I had failed. Then, a muffled voice floated out from in the house. I heard Marat’s voice...

“Simmone? Who was that?”

The shrewd-looking woman replied immediately.

“Oh, a woman who came by with a list of names... She thought you might want to hear...”

At least she was honest. I glared at the house, imagining that I could see through the walls. I imagined that I was glaring straight at them.

I defeatedly trudged home. It seems that I would have to wait until tomorrow to complete my plan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was my second attempt. I couldn’t fail this time, or I would fall apart. I had watched the house, I saw that Simmone had left. Slowly, shaking, I walked to the door. I placed my foot directlyin front of the other, repeated the action until I reached the blank slab of upright wood that seemed to be my destiny. I knocked yet again, hoping there wasn’t a nasty surprise hiding in the main room. I heard the soft, weak voice come from the house.

“Come in...”

I pushed the door open and layered my voice, body, and eyes with complete and utter calm. I was the eye of the storm. Confidently, I walked in. My feet carried me to the bathroom, and I leaned in the doorway before softly calling out, “May I come in?”

Marat glanced at me for a second, and then motioned for me to sit in the chair beside the tub.

“Of course. I let you come in the house, didn’t I?”

The barest trace of a smile touched my features against my will.

“Yes... I suppose, but that’s not the reason I’m here,” I replied while sitting and smoothing my dress. I handed him the list. He looked shocked at some of the names that I had written.

“Are you sure of some of these? For example, Fredric Un-Jous? From what I know, he is loyal.”

“No, I believe I saw him in a bar, screaming hate towards the revolution.”

I could almost sense him making a mental note to ask Fredric about this later.

He continued the questions until I almost ran out of ideas for anti-revolutionary actions. Huffing, he began writing the names down onto his paper. I carefully slipped the dagger out of my dress. I ran my finger along it quickly, mentally nodding when I saw a drop of pure red liquid drip from the digit. Then, looking away, I plunged it into his bare back. I watched with pure horror as his body jerked once before he cried and screamed, “Aidez-moi, ma chére amie!” As Simmone rushed in, I collapsed to the red-stained floor, weeping. I had just killed a man... I just killed a man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stared blankly up at the judges, no emotion in the void that used to be a lively young woman. I knew my trial would be short. I would just be questioned shortly, then dragged to the guillotine. There was no purpose in even being questioned.

A harsh, grating voice cut through the deadly silence of the still, chilly air. The questioning had begun.

“Now, tell me young woman... Why have you done this?”

The questioning had begun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Short... Ha. My trial was four days long, and I was completely and utterly exhausted. With shaking limbs, I sat on the thin excuse of a bed that they provided prisoners. I carefully lay down, it would be horrible to die from a head injury... although I was going to anyway. I rolled onto my side. Might as well get a last bit of sleep before I was executed. As my eyes closed, I thought about my actual death. Would it hurt? My fleeing consciousness did not reply.

I was prodded awake by a bayonette, attached to a rifle, which was in turn held by a tired and disheveled looking guard.

“Geddup,” He growled in an almost sleeplike groan. I complied immediately. He clamped my wrists together, and guided me to the entrance of the giant prison. I blinked at the sudden flash of sunlight. It seemed to be morning. My blank stare reached the tall platform that contained the guillotine. I trudged up behind it, not paying attention to the crowd’s cheering towards the executioner. I accepted my death. The crowd suddenly stopped their cheering. I suddenly realized that they were waiting for me. I held my head high, and marched up the steps, and closed my eyes as I listened to the hateful exclamations directed at me. I was patient as they threw rotten fruit at my face, said nothing as they spat at me. Only when they quieted did I speak. I spoke proudly, using my last bits of energy to let my voice carry across the horde.

“I killed one man to save a hundred thousand!”

I stepped forward, and lowered myself onto the execution board. A man slid me into place. And even though my heart was beating as fast as it possibly could, perhaps relishing its last pumps, I felt at peace with my decision. A wooden slab fastened around my neck to keep me from somehow escaping. I looked into the crowd, locked eyes with someone, and smiled softly. I looked back down into the bloodstained basket. This was how I was going to spend my last moments? Fine. I felt the whoosh of cold air before the light in my eyes faded. I felt strangely detached from the world. Suddenly, there was nothing.

I am Charlotte Corday. I am the solution to their deaths. And this is my story.