It was a grim frosty morning on this day July 28th, 1794. The sun was about to push the clouds away and I heard the crowd gathering to witness the last day of my life. Gosh, the time was short to reflect on my time fighting the king and people in power around me. I the one who wanted to liberate my people with the truth and nothing but the truth. The traitor the king and his wife got executed in cold blood. With my words and my ideas in parliament as a member of the Jacobines and member of the Welfare Committee the new government did I stand tall above all my followers and critics. I the modern Maximilien Marie Isidore de Robespierre the black man named Agyapong born, raised, and educated in Ghana having made my fortune under President Kufuor by getting contracts, taking the money of the contracts and never executing any of my promises made no see all these people around me. There my enemies and there my old friends abandoned me in shame. How disgraceful, how shameful.
As my head got chopped off from my body by the sharp knife of the Guillotine the modern weapon of mass execution I see above me on the wooden structure the torso which I once used to carry my head around. I can feel the warm dark red blood in which my head is covered a pillow so soft, so quiet so full of me, of myself as I was. From afar I can hear the voice of my mother crying over my death. My sweet mother. Her sweet cry make me feel I my life was worth it. That everything I did, and everything I stood for was worth it, was pointing to this moment in history and will have a long-lasting impact, a memorial in the hearts and heads of people around the world. My body never failed me. I was not sick, no serious illness. My brain was as sharp as the triangle knife which had just chopped off my head from my body. Oh, how much I loved this body that once stood before the king on his arrival in Paris and the moment I praised him with my lyrics before he embarked from his carriage and went into history.
I loved that man so much, my king. Yes, he stood in the splendor of himself and used the money of the people leaving them with no food behind while he had everything. And when the time came I had to turn against my king and make my people chop off his head and little after his Austrian wife`s truly these were hard moments for me. But what was needed to get done had to be done.
And now I can hear the crowd cheering the execution master for a job well done and hear my mother cry even louder and harder. How much I wish to comfort her as being dead is not the end of my story rather the beginning of it. People centuries from now will hear me and will remember me. The king how less people will discuss him in schools and universities. I, the black Robespierre with all my heart and my TV station ensured my generations and their siblings to come will still remember me as the only true representative eligible to rule over this nation.
My predecessor the French man who tried to take his own life only to see himself being taken to this place one month later and feel his head rolling down the wooden stairs of this place showcased to the cheering Parisians stood in parliament the Convent among all parliamentarians holding a white folded sheet of paper in his hand and before the eyes of the representatives of the people threatening them to show the names of the traitors of the revolution I sat on TV several times threatening to expose my opponents if they dare to touch me and are not willing to change. Yes, I spoke extremely loud and clearly into the microphones of my country even microphones are loud enough to carry my voice into all corners of the nation so me not having to shout to my people. But anyway I was shouting for no one to take me for granted or to be misunderstood. I threatened people to disclose my evidence that I was holding into the cameras making sure they would not see the details of it. Yes, I reported criminal cases and moral cases and threatened to release my evidence if no change would be the consequence of my words. And yes, I should have given my evidence to the respective authorities for them to follow it up. Moral issues were not for the public to know. But criminal allegations sure the public needed to hear about it. The evidence was there in my hands for all to see at least the idea of it, not the details as such. Blackmailing is the faster solution to solve the issues I have with people. The justice system is far too complicated and takes far too long.
Before my head turns its life off completely I just remember that French Robespierre had shown only a white empty paper to the parliamentarians who got so furious they ran after him; and he had tried to take his life but had survived seriously wounded. Maybe I copied him too much. I should have better learned the right lesson. Anyway….sella vie. That is how life goes.
And now my head lies here in cold dark red black blood and my time is up.
