Judas

I see him there, along with the others. Their hands are tied back, hair shaved, clothes tattered thin – but he stands out. I watch him, hoping to catch his eye, to tell him, but he isn’t looking at the rowdy crowd below. Instead he glares into the bright noon sun, his chin held high – in another life, he’d be a monarch of some kind.

A revolutionary grabs him by the shoulder, and shoves him onto his knees. Others hold him down, even though he isn’t struggling.

The blonde-haired woman gasps, but someone presses a riffle into her back – a reminder for her to get back in line. She stiffens, and reaches over to hold hands with the woman beside her.

Then without further word, the blade comes down and his head rolls off and the crowd erupts into cheers. When the blade re-emerges, it is dripping in red.

The head falls to my feet, and its eyes glaze up at me.

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She was insane.

Traitor, traitor, traitor! ¬– she cried as we passed, over and over again. Jude stopped, regarding the woman with an unnatural calm gaze. She waved a small piece of paper in his face as she spat at him, clawed and kicked.But the chains dug into her wrists, pulling her back toward the wall. No matter how hard she fought, she could never quite reach – her fingers just millimeters away from his heart.

I flinched, but pushed away my pity. These people were here for a reason. They were against the revolution, against the ideals, against liberty. They deserved their punishment here. I, Adrien of the Revolutionaries, should be proud for my loyalty.

Jude snatched her hands back, and kicked her hard on the side. With one last shriek, she went limp and collapsed to the ground – dust spiraling as she landed.

The prison went quiet. I bristled, realizing and remembering why Jude was the Brigadier General. He turned sharply. I fumbled with the lantern, holding it high as he came close. He jerked his head outward, commanding than I follow him out.

The prisons felt airtight and humid. I remembered walking through these streets in a time before the revolution – when it wasn’t a prison, but a marketplace buzzing with life as one shopkeeper shouted at another.

There were whispers in the air, people discussing rumors – the king, Louis XVI, had been executed that morning. His blood slick on the blade of the guillotine. They were satisfied whispers – finally, the nasty thief tyrant had been put in his place. But they were also fearful whispers – whose head, then, would be next to roll?

The prisoners would glare at us, throw rocks at us, and rattle their chains in our faces – but Jude remained indifferent. Like he was merely taking an afternoon stroll. His keys clacked as he unlocked the prison gates.

“Attendez-moi! S’il vous plaît, sir!”

A small boy tottered after us, tugging at Jude’s sleeve. Jude pushed him away, pulling the gate into place as a barricade. The boy stepped forward and strained his hands past the bars – but Jude slapped them away. The boy trembled as Jude twisted the lock into place.

I turned to leave, but Jude was motionless. His hands were clenched over the top of the gate railing, as if leaning for it support. He cast his eyes on the boy, whose cries quieted as he blinked up at Jude.

“He was only a child,” I said, my voice coming out small, “You didn’t-” But then Jude redirected his glance at me – and I, too, was stilled into silence.


I hiccupped.

“You don't get it,” I hissed, the coughing when I smelled my own bad breath. “Jude is fucking creepy.” I tripped, and my fellow revolutionaries caught me before I fell. I tipped my hat in thanks.

“Tch,” one of them replied. “You’re just upset he dragged you along like an obedient dog on your first patrol. The wise don’t fear the guillotine. The wise fear the wrath of Jude of the Brigadiers. Oh… look, why – speak of the devil.”

Jude stood at the end of the street, tapping at someone’s door. We all stopped to exchanged wicked smiles – our curiosity perking. We hastily threw ourselves behind a disheveled brick wall.

The door opened just a crack – an uncertain motion, then slowly swung forward. A blonde-haired woman emerged, her face hidden in shadows, but by the tilt of her head she seemed to be confused by Jude’s appearance. He pulled something out of his pocket, and pressed it into the woman’s hand.

“Ooh-la-la!” someone sang. “Jude has a lover!”

Jude saluted, then began a march down the street – toward our direction. The others jumped out of the way, but I turned at the last minute – and in the corner of my eye, I saw the woman waving as Jude left.

I’d seen her face before. A slightly different face, but I knew it.

It took me a little while longer to take to recognition.


I didn’t understand his question.

“D-don’t…” I said, trying to change the subject, “Don’t get mad at me when you’re the traitor. You thought you were clever, passing along plans of escape to that blonde-haired woman. Having her sister feign insanity so that you’d have an excuse to hit her sister, get close to her.”

Jude loosened his grip on my arm, and he looked at me like I was stupid. He slipped his hand into his pocket and, upon retrieving something, shoved it into my hands.

“What—”

I heard someone’s footsteps nearing, and quickly stowed them into my pocket. His eyes darted to the left, telling me to go. And even though he was no longer Head Brigadier, I did as he commanded.

Another Brigadier came around, and I bowed in respect. He waved me off.

“Nut job, isn’t he?” the Brigadier muttered as he peered over at Jude like he was a feral animal. “The quiet ones are the crazies. But nice call. You’re the one who tipped me off about his rendezvous with that woman, right?”

I just gave him a curt nod in response.

I stepped around to the back of the building, where no other Revolutionaries would be walking past, and pulled the papers Jude had given to me out of my pocket. Small scraps, yellowed and scraggly with scratchy, untidy strokes across them – like the author was writing in a hurry. I recognized them.

Sister, how are you faring?

All of the notes were roughly the same. Bits and pieces of mundane conversation exchanged between a separated family. I fumed. Why would Jude give this to me? He was a madman. I continued reading, but found nothing of importance. The conversation came to an abrupt end – probably when Jude’s betrayal was discovered.

The last note… had no message. Just an address. I tossed the scraps into a trash can.