All Write, Already!

I stand here, trembling, smoking my last cigarette. My blindfold is tight. Snug. My wrists are tightly tid to the smooth post behind me.
Was I sorry? Not really. I believed that the revolution was the right path to take. The monarchy was an antiquated system of gevernment, and we all agreed that a representative form of governemtn was in everyone's best interest.
But kings don't take kindly to armed rebels, and I suppose I am getting what was coming to me...
"Présente arms!" cries the sergeant-at-arms. My knees buckle a bit, and my skin grows cold.
Louis is mad, I think. Even though we oppose him, wherein lies the sense in killing the young and educated? Can we not find a place for those of us who disagree? Exile, perhaps? Or teaching letters and numbers to those who have committed non-capital crimes? There must be someplace we can go and live in peace...
"Visez!" cries the sergeant.
I feel a warmth in my belly. I think of my cat, the old stinker, poised tightly in the moonlight, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting mouse. Was I the cat, suddenly discovered by the mouse? No. I am the mouse, about to be pounced upon.
No. I am no mouse. I am a man, and I refuse to die for nothing. My death must mean something.
"Liberté" I scream as the the sergeant cries...