“Victor is short for victory,”
my mum would always say.
While staring at my thin physique,
I cannot feel the same.

I’m at the age,
that dreaded age
where decisions are hardly my own.
15 years young in an unrested city.

City of Light, as dark as my brooding heart.
Cultural advantages dulling their shine.
1789 in the capital that I love,
their debts will soon be paid.

Our King lost his best interests,
well-being no longer top priority.
Revolt is in the air,
Parisians chomping at the bit.

I desire to remain neutral
Do I fight for my government?
Do I fight alongside my peers?
Glancing at my grief-stricken mother gives me my answer.

I enlist.
Against my better judgment,
I enlist.
Mum, this is for you.

Unorganized training has become my life.
Time passes, day by day
I miss my mum; I miss the way it used to be.
My indecisive nature takes control.

The war we waged is raging on,
against the rulers from our own backyard.
The decade rolls on; I move up the ranks.
I become acquainted to a fellow named Napoleon.

My quarter-century birthday is near
as we storm the Bastille.
Approaching Versailles, converted soldiers sense the end.
Napoleon is our leader – now and forever.

?
We meet our rivals,
this is our chance to take the throne,
saving France from complete corruption.
Bloodshed quickly overcomes the secluded countryside.

My stomach was not made for this.
I heaved at the scent of gore and afterlife.
Men throwing their morals in the past,
French fighting the French.

But alas – where is Napoleon?
Success was not possible without the expert warrior.
As I panicked the dreaded outcome, my prayers answered.
Lying there, wounded, was the trusted Napoleon.

“Lead our men, Victor. Lead us to victory!”
I had never second guessed the commander.
So I put my timid behavior aside,
and on to victory we marched, France was finally ours.

Anthems played, parties thrown,
parades strode on and on.
Every citizen desired to pay respect
to the young soldiers who had won their city back.

?
With revolution comes a new beginning,
new decisions to be made
before new government could be placed.
The fate of the captured King came first.

King Louis XVI was put on trial.
I returned home to my proud mother.
Ten years of struggle, all for her.
I thought I was finally free.

But as the captured King was sentenced to death,
I was thrown back into the flame.
Napoleon suggested I operate the guillotine,
I was the leader after all.

The dreadful day came in haste.
I stared at the soon to be deceased King.
Had I made the right choices?
My mind returned to my 15-year-old self.

Was it right of me to fight my government?
Was it right for me to kill?
Was I fighting on the noble side?
Would my timid nature behead the King?

?
Before I could think, before I could panic
a crowd had filled the Place de la Revolution.
King Louis XVI and his dynasty were seconds from breathing their last.
Back dropped by the sunny Parisian plaza.


Au revoir, King
Au revoir to your dynasty.
Au revoir, my apologies.
Chop!