Defragmented Night

3 – I am sitting on the stone bench. The cell, narrow and as ventilated as a coal mine, lies in the dark of the basement. I don’t want to call this a dungeon. The word brings medieval, tortuous echoes. I, on the other hand, trust that everything will pass swiftly and with determination. Painless would be too much to ask, but the least I expect is for my bones not to be disjointed with a rack, like they used to do some years ago. What I want is precision. Not fooling around. A pincer stripping my flesh of that thorn called life. Nothing else.

5 – So this is emptiness, I say. Not only the present, so insignificant and doomed, but all those days before it. Thomas has thrown them overboard. I never wanted to believe, even after people started disappearing at his convenience. Maybe I should’ve sent someone to inspect his house and the dock after all. I sleep half-heartedly at intervals. Inconstant.

11 – They lead me to the yard, before the stars, who return little by little to their diurnal lethargy. The shackles hurt, but it’s not time for complaints. What is it time of? Of silence, of solemnity? From the beginning everyone pollutes your vision with the idea of a “heroic death.” Accepting and resisting, till the end. But the itch of a question arises. In that last hour, shouldn’t we show ourselves more naked than ever? I don’t know. Even then, I will stay quiet and resistant. I would not like to be inadequate.

4 – The guards have told me, timid, that Thomas himself signed the warrant. I’m not taken aback by his lack of compassion (I understood that the moment he arrived at my house with eight armed men and took me prisoner), but I am befuddled at humankind in general. Now everyone has their own name. The people, the bloodline, they don’t mean anything at all.

7 – Accept. Yes, of course. Time is at a standstill; the hours are headed for a single, final point. And the priest asks me to accept. I accept my defeat and my stupidity. I shall not accept death. To begin with, I tell him, I’m not even acquainted with her. He finds the conversation too violent and leaves, excusing himself with I don’t know what. Everybody leaves when the going gets tough. Maybe I was rude. But it’s his fault, I think. Accepting the end of the world, accepting the hecatomb of all time. Don’t be ridiculous.

2 – We go down to the bottom of the fortress my father built. I don’t mind having no windows. Out there, the darkness looks the same, and no view would cheer me up anyway. Thomas’s men are firm, but respectful. It’s clear they have no personal feud with me. They just lead me towards my destiny, without pausing. They show me the cell, and leave me there with two sentinels. How come my employees were never this efficient?

13 – The night begins to end. Other things too. The summer house in Alsace, the Sunday games, the promises of grandeur my father always made me, the fake friendships, the true embraces. How could I be so alone all this time without knowing? I’d like to implore for a father, like Christ on the rood, but I’m not that naïve. After all, a brother has already betrayed me. The executioner, with a covered face, wishes me kindly a nice trip. The axe’s edge cracks against me. Is that I feel a vertebrae?

1 – In the beginning we lived together, under my parents’ guidance. I was the eldest. We lived amongst green gardens and velvet rooms, and I only understood this when someone explained to me the golden hat dad used to wear. I didn’t ask for that crown. That’s what Thomas doesn’t get. Could he not ask for it? My best men have taken his side or disappeared altogether. People say there are bodies under the dock. I never believed. He’s my brother, I told them. I know him. But yes. It is him, my brother, who carries me shackled in the back of a cheap carriage. I try not to think about it. I try not to think of time. When we get to the prison, night’s become complete. There is no moon.