The cold gaze of weary eyes lay heavily upon a tattered flag. Its worn vertical tricolours blue, white and red had been rendered by past glories. It reminded the shady figure of his triumph against the last domineering king of France and the tragedy that transpired before his immediate arrest. He eyed a worn noose that hung lazily from the roof of the chamber. It swung back and forth, inebriating the old man’s senses and conjecturing up speculations on what the future might deliver him. His body was limp and his saddened face was cast half in light and half in darkness. He had once thought himself to be the prophet of a new era, but now he knew that it was a madman’s dream, or nightmare.
He slumped further into the corner of his gloomy cell as the insidious darkness began dragging him into its abyss, but before his guilt fully consumed him, a blinding bright light burst through the cell door. Its radiance scorched his withered face and there before him stood a proud man dressed in a red silk robes of which denoted his high bureaucratic statues.
The light behind the robed figure formed a crown of light upon his head. Stillness froze the air, as the old man squinted at the figure before him. Only after a moment of deathly silence did the old man recognise his former colleague. The momentary hush was abruptly broken by his former friend as he whispered to him in a solemn tone “To think it would come to this, Condamné. You failed to control yourself once again. I hope for your sake that god shows more mercy to you then the public has. What drove you to do it?”
The presence of his usurper filled Condamné with a plethora of emotions. His head lowered and his face wrinkled up as if he was in pain. He firmly expected to be decimated by the fury of a man who bore the same radical passions as the people he lead. Condamné decrepit form lay silent in the corner, either too afraid to speak or choosing his words with a diplomatic mind to save himself any future perils.
The young man’s youthful energy wouldn’t allow the silence to once more encompass the dingy cell. He mustered up the gaul to speak once more in a stern tone “It doesn’t matter, we all know what befalls a traitor of the revolution,” he then pauses for a few seconds, his face as hard as stone, “perhaps I should have had you hung sooner.” The harsh words buried into Condamné forcing him to retort in anger “I am not a traitor, yes I made mistakes during my reign, but that doesn’t warrant me as a traitor” He stops for a moment allowing his words to sink in before continuing in a softer tone, “given time we all will make mistakes and with that we are alike?” The official began fuming his face red with rage as he bellowed “Don’t be so arrogant. You used your power to butcher and silence for your own gains!” He then stopped and slowed his breathing to calm himself, “We were alike, you and me, our goals similar” His voice then turned into jagged knives as he continued, “but our motivations were at...