1. Chapter Six (1/2)

disclaimer: i did not write the stranger.note: this was a school project that i was particularly satisfied with. i hope you enjoy.

the stranger

part

two

chapter

six

it was nearly dawn when

i heard slow footsteps make their way toward my cell. my eyes opened

lazily and i sat up from my cot. i knew, in that instant, that they

were coming for me, and i

aced myself for the inevitable. i did not

have to tell myself that it would be quick or that i would almost

definitely feel no pain; i did not have to remind myself that the

people in the crowd were nothing—that dignity meant nothing—because

these things went without saying, and without being thought.

"monsieur,"

the guard said with a solemn nod, and i sensed something truly sad

within his eyes, and a touch of whimsy, which was not as strange as

the sorrow. one would think that after years in his maca

e position,

he would be immune to such things.

he

was a big man, tall and

oad-shouldered, but a single guard

nonetheless. i reflected silently on the fact that they had sent only

one. one man to restrain a convicted killer.

i

stood up without nodding in return, and i reached the cell door just

as i heard his key slide into the lock and then the door click open.

he held up a pair of handcuffs and i instinctively turned around,

putting my hands behind my back. there was something not quite right

about the way the cuffs are slipped around my wrists. they were

closed but far too loose. i was almost sure that i could slip out of

them with very little effort.

the

man began to lead me down the hall, his fingers around my wrists.

"monsieur," he says.

"yes?"

i responded dryly.

"you

remind me of someone. not your looks or voice, or even your

despicable act, but your manner, monsieur, your soul."

"oh?"

i said as we exited the prison. even in the mild pinkish glow of the

rising dawn, my eyes were pained. i had not been outdoors in quite a

while.

"yes,

monsieur." i didn't feel like talking now, to say the least, but

what he was saying intrigued me. there was something devious in his

voice, and something honest as well.

i

saw the guillotine. it was a large and imposing machine, its huge,

slanted blade glistening in the early morning sun.

"you

remind me of a close friend, monsieur, and to see you die would be

simply awful. do you know what it's like to mourn, to cry, to wish

with all your heart that one tiny detail may have prevented the most

horrible of occurrences?" he was talking about a lost love, i

realized, love like marie's for the old meursault. i had no time

for it, but i continued to listen, because there really wasn't

anything else to do.

"yes,"

i answered quietly so that the other guards—there were more

outside—could not hear. "i have mourned for my life."

he

stopped walking and so i was forced to stop as well. he leaned close

so that i could feel his

eath on the side of my face, and it

sickened me slightly. "run," he said. "run, monsieur."

he

let go of my wrists. the handcuffs slipped free and fell to the

ground. my heart began to pound with excitement the likes of which i

thought i would never feel again. the other guards were still at

least seven meters away. they had not yet noticed that anything was

amiss.

i

was faced with a decision. though it was all meaningless, though i

would have a ninety-nine percent chance of being shot down a very

short distance from my current position, and though i knew that there

was no point, that life was nothing and would end eventually whether

or not it ended today, a part of my physical mind—my human

mind—cried out for this chance, for a few more minutes, for the

feeling of the wind in my hair and the dreaded sun against my back

and—only if i was implausibly lucky—the feeling of a woman in my

arms again.

it

was at that point that i realized that i could either run or not run.

and

i ran.

the

crowd gasped and the guards swore as i took off, nearly flying, quite

literally running for my life. i heard pistols firing behind me, men

trying to take me down. i heard them chasing me.

and

then—and this is amazing—i outran them all. i ran off of the

road, through allies and over fences, and then, when my heart felt as

if it would rip its way out of my chest and my lungs felt like those

of a dying man, i managed to compose myself perfectly and step onto a

train which was just ready to take its leave. the door of the luggage

car had been left opened. there, i collapsed, trying vainly trying to

catch my

eath.

both

heart and lungs were a long time slowing, and by the time i felt the

train come to a stop, i was refreshed by the exercise. i had found

more appropriate cloths, dirty and mysterious though they were, on

the floor of the car, and i had already changed out of my fluorescent

orange suit.

i

hopped out and looked around. i hadn't been taken far. i calculated

that i was miles from the prison but closer than i had been before to

my old neighborhood, though i could have been wrong.

i

began to walk, keeping away from the roads and sidewalks, and i

realized before long that i was not heading toward my old apartment

complex but to marie's. her door was unlocked when i arrived, but

she wasn't home. i decided to wait.