Precipitation

(Based on last chapter of The Tale of Two Cities)

Recalled to Senses:
The resolution being made, initially, the various arrangements occupied Sydney
Cartons mind. Then there was the switch itself (the risk, the thrill and fear) which
kept any misgivings at bay. It was after he was firmly confined to cell, in place of
Darnay, that the terror of the fate he had embraced began to haunt him.

The Sinuous Thread:

Carton passed the lonely hours in his cell mired in despair. The desperate pleas of
prisoners pierced the ghastly silence of prison. He knew that the cries wouldnt be
heard, much less believed. He knew that it was absurd cowardly and undignified. He
began to pace the room feverishly. Perhaps he cursed himself; perhaps he shouted
too, pleading his innocence.
When they came to take him, he went mechanically. As he passed the streets he
kept looking at the pitiable, haggard, broken faces of condemned prisoners and the
twisted, spiteful, cursing faces of onlookers. Perhaps he was looking for recognition
or a gleam of understanding.

Track of a Squall:
A young girl looked at Carton with moist, appealing eyes looking for support in the
shadow of guillotine. He chuckled drily. He thought of the girl who would be crossing
the channel now. He felt a sudden pang. Then he saw the blade of guillotine fall and
sever the head of a young boy.
Whenever Carton had thought of Lucie and Darnay, it was with envy and longing.
Always as an idyllic couple blessed with eternal bliss and that old blundering but
lovable fool Lorry, Lucies father. But now amongst this scene of violence, as he
thought of them the sharp edges of reality burst through all the romantic notions.
And he saw them as the heads were chopped in front of him as a boring,
conventional couple; maintaining a veneer of respectability with their hypocrisy,
plastic smiles, dull hollow mind; a love-dead, querulous, common petty couple. And
that old fool Lorry with his senility, inane smile, a nuisance. He saw them with their
tale of adventure (with which they bored their acquaintances every chance they
could) in which they figured as heroes (the brave, selfless Darnay and oh so loyal
Lucie) and he (that dunce Carton) forgotten.
He saw as people laughed at a dropped head which seemed to wiggle what a
waste his sacrifice was. What a waste all sacrifice was. The revolution, too, and all
its hope and barbarity. He looked around at raging crowd, clamoring for his head,
and his repulsion subsided as he thought that they too had wanted a way out of the
wasteland, that was their life. His own life, with its squalor, called for a way out, any
way out. The essence of his whole life crystallized in the form of a clear but

wordless proposition. As he was shoved in front of the guillotine and his neck forced
into position, he was thinking of some words which, shouted heroically from
guillotine, would explain all this madness and echo through history. But as he
struggled for words his mind came up blank. And his neck was really uncomfortable
in the guillotine. This showy heroism and heady romanticism is what got you here,
he thought, so for once just shut up and go quietly.

Faisal Amir
4th Year MBBS