The Inconvenience Of Life

Guillotine

There is no light. The muffled sound of a crowd jeering strained through the burlap sack placed on my head. They say when one sense is lost, all others are enhanced.
It's the middle of the afternoon. The sun bears down on my back, every passing second worse than the last. I was being dragged by the wrists. My hands are tied behind my back. There is no use in pulling against the restraints. Even without them, the blood of my actions would still be there to hold me back. There was never any escape.

The middle of the courtyard must be quite occupied by now. Faces will be present in both mourning and anger, waiting for the angel of death to be sent back to where it belongs. There will be other faces as well. Faces that those in the courtyard cannot see. Faces permanently etched with their final breath, never to see light again. They follow me everywhere. They were there when blood first painted the cobblestone of the empty corridor. They were there when pools became rivers. They were there when the smell became unbearable and space was running out. They were there on the day I was taken away. They were there as I sat in darkness. They are here now, waiting for the moment when they can finally sleep in peace.

I was a child born to no emotion. My family feared me, so they sent me away. I grew up surrounded by children, all who taunted me for my ways. I was alone. That never mattered. Nothing ever mattered. The memories stuck with me, never to escape my thoughts. The first emotion I ever learned was anger. Anger for those who had done wrong. Anger for those who cared not for the repercussions of their actions. Anger for those who gave no mercy to those of the outside.

The second emotion I learned was fear. However it was not I who feared. It was the children. As I grew older, I obtained new hobbies. It started with ant-hills. I spent a great deal of time alone, left to do as I pleased.

There was a massive garden beside the orphanage. It was filled with specimens beyond belief. Foliage and creatures from various parts of the world were scattered about. Locked in cages, they were denied the freedom we all take for granted.

Within the garden there was was a section in the back corner left to be taken over by the cruel earth. No flowers were present. Animals dared not to even acknowledge its presence. Its only occupants: the ants. Red ants that everyone was told to stay away from.

They never bothered me. Since no one ever attempted to visit this side of the garden, I decided to claim the small section as my own.
I coexisted with the ants. They gave me shelter. In return I helped them the only way I could. I helped them live

One day the taunts became too much. Cecilia, a girl only my senior, was adopted. She was to be taken to her new home the next day. Upon adoption, her new family presented her with gifts, all of fine material and quality. All of the other children envied her. I however did not. She wanted all to be jealous. That was simply the kind of person she was. I made a vow to myself never to give her the satisfaction of knowing she finally got to me.

I was sitting next to the anthill when she approached me. The other children stood a distance away, looking with curious eyes and eager expressions.

I did not look at her. Her taunts rained down as she spat lightning and echoed thunder. I kept quiet. She was made of rage. Without notice, she planted her hands on my shoulders and shoved with the force of resentment built up over the years. As I fell I took a glance at her face. Her cackle inscribed a grimace onto her face, now resembling the illustrations of witches in our fantasy books. I landed atop the anthill. It was crushed under my weight.
She left along with the rest of the children. I got up to assess the damage done to the dwelling of my companions. I gave a sigh of relief at the moment when miniscule red dots surfaced.

Cecilia had gone too far. The red of anger flooded my thoughts. She had to pay for what she had done.
That night my plan took course. I had stolen a jar of preservatives from the kitchens. While the rest of the children were out playing, I took out the laces of their old worn out shoes.

Atop Cecilia's bed sat the most expensive gift she received. A porcelain doll, made to resemble herself. It sat there with a lifeless face free of any imperfections. Green eyes the color of a spring meadow were glazed over, staring into nothingness. Such a pure and delicate gift.
The cycle of light and dark commenced. All lay asleep in their beds while I began my work. The shoelaces were woven into a cord. The moment the last light was extinguished I made my way to where she slept.