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Thatcher Boyd

Page history last edited by michianawriterscenter@... 9 years, 6 months ago



Meet Thatcher Boyd:


My name is Thatcher Boyd. I was born with Asperger’s Disorder, but that did not stop me from doing the things that I love. My older sister and I found reading

and writing complex materials easy. Because of this, I excelled in school (well, math was a bit of a struggle). I discovered a love for film when I saw an Abbott and

Costello film at the age of six. At the time, I only enjoyed films in black-and-white, (Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, The Three Stooges, 1931’s Frankenstein, 1925’s Phantom of the Opera starring Lon Chaney, etc.) but accepting as I was, the interest became vast. My greatest hope is to one day become a film director, but still writing is my second option. My favorite country is Ireland, which I hope to someday retire in.







By Thatcher Boyd




     This story begins in France spanning the years of 1793 until 1794. During this period of time, there was somewhat of a war occurring known as “The Reign of Terror”. This reign began after King Louis XVI’s death, which sparked a rivalry between two families; the Jacobins and the Girondins. The Girondin’s campaign purpose was to end the monarchy but resist the French Revolution to continue. The Jacobins, however, started the reign of terror and it was in their best wishes for it to continue. During this time, mass executions were held. It all ended with the death of the Jacobin’s leader Maximillian Robespierre.

     Before the audience reads this I ask them to deny history for a moment. Although this is a work of fiction, not all history is recorded. I myself do not know what happened exactly during this Reign of Terror, but this is what I conjured.





The power is assumed

The laws are defied

The land is scorched

The sky rains tyranny

The people cry

The uprising is nigh

The battle is fought

The blood lies spilt

The innocent reign supreme

The terror is over

-Jacob Berg



     A desolate rooftop. The only safe place from the horrors below. The only thing the man fears more than his past is the blade of the guillotine. His clothing is black; it blends in with the night, as he is supposed to. A blade remains motionless up his sleeve, but he knows it will not remain

motionless for long. And woven on his ca

pe is the badge that was given to him by Sylvaine, the leader of his clan. That badge is the man’s most trustworthy ally.

     The man starts to think about his career. He doesn’t think negatively for he believes strongly in the Jacobin’s cause. He himself was once a peasant, along with his family. From what he has

experienced over the last 3 months, change is a part of him. Change is what made Alexandre Giroux a killer. Then with a kick of dust and a scrape of bricks, Sylvaine appeared from behind him.

     “Bon journee! (Good day!)” he said.

     “You can rightfully say that by now it is night, Sylvaine,” Alexandre replied.

     “The perfect setting for another job for you. I’m sure you do not mind, but we need to ensure you are on with “Pour Les Personnes (For the People, an assassination group allied with the Jacobins)”. Alexandre developed a bitter look in his green eyes. 

     “Why do you persistently ask me these questions of faith? Why should I continue these despicable acts if you do not have assurance in me?” he asked. They paced around each other in a deadly circle.

     “It is after all the Reign of Terror, who is there to trust?” 

     Alexandre replied with just as bitter of a remark, “I was about to ask you the same question.”           Sylvaine, in turn started to get maddened and said, “Why are you attacking me when you are supposed to be allied with me?”

     Alexandre stared at the false Sylvaine. “The meaning of my name is “defender of mankind. By attacking those who threaten mankind, I AM defending mankind!”

     The false Sylvaine backed away towards the edge of the roof, fear in his voice. “You must be mistaken, o-or drunk! That is it! Well, why not let the merrymaking continue? We’ll go down there no-“

     “NO!” Alexandre cut him off.

     At this point, the false Sylvaine faced Alexandre’s backside. The false Sylvaine repeated, “You ARE mistaken!” as he slyly pulled out a dagger from his cloak. Alexandre closed his eyes and

breathed as the false Sylvaine rushed him from behind. In a flurry, the assassin grabbed the false Sylvaine’s striking arm and ended his life with his own stiletto.

     Alexandre leaned and whispered into the man’s ear, “The Sylvaine I know understands the code, that we kill to save lives, and that we under no circumstances kill other assassins.” He laid the corpse down. “Requeste de pache.”


Chapter 1 Ambition



     The sunlight gleamed in Alexandre’s eyes and he woke up from a night of torment. Suprisingly, he wasn’t thankful he had not been murdered in his sleep. Alexandre went to his water bowl and splashed his face, removing the latest killing that seemed imprinted on his profile. With a small piece of mirror, he looked closely on the Pour Les Personnes emblem that was branded on his chest.

       “It is a part of me now,” he whispered to seemingly no one. He decided to instead focus on preparing for the day ahead of him. On a wooden rack fashioned to look like a mannequin, hung his leather vest laced with bits of metal to offer protection from bullets. Then there is his overcoat, his lace cuffs, his privateer hat and his knee-length boots, his right boot concealing a knife in the toe. And on the front of the mannequin was his mask so that his notoriety remained as small as a grain of sand. He then turned to his weapon rack with a vast amount of armory on it. There was a stiletto which Alexandre usually hid up his sleeve, a dagger he attached to his hip, a vial of poison disguised as a cuff link, an epee sword with a sheath, a double-barreled flintlock pistol, a rather large blunderbuss, a rope dart, an English war hammer, and a 7-barreled rifle made by Nock Arms Industry. That day, he holstered his pistol and hid the stiletto up his sleeve. The room he lived in was a part of a tavern owned by Pour Les Personnes, one of their many safe havens all across France. Alexandre wondered downstairs to find Dash, the page boy sitting at a lone table. Dash soon met his eyes, stood up and walked over to Alexandre. He was much younger than Alexandre, being a page boy was the only way to keep him out of trouble. He had a clean shaven face and narrow bony legs that he could swiftly run with. Dash also sported a pair of ice blue eyes, which his father said would win him the ladies.

            “Alexandre, my friend!” he exclaimed. “Comment allez-vous(How are you)?”

            “Com ci com ca, Dash (Not bad). You have something for me?” Alexandre asked.

            Dash replied, “Yes, I do. Please, sit down. Would you like some vino?”

            “I prefer not to be drunk when embarking on…business.” Dash reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a letter. On it was a wax stamp marked with the Pour Les Personnes emblem, a red shield with a hand above it pointing up.

            “Are you aware of the imposter posing as our beloved Sylvaine?” Dash asked.

            “Yes.” Alexandre chuckled. “The imposter who was posing as Sylvaine. He has been taken care of.” Alexandre opened the letter with his knife, which made Dash wince. It was written in the Jacobin code. The translation read:

Dear Alexandre,

            There is a local merchant named Leverett spreading lies about the Jacobin family and their cause. He will be attending a party in his honor at the Roux residence in Paris. There will be fireworks at the party, so use them to your advantage. I know it has been a while since you’ve been in the city but I have faith in you. Faites ce que vous devez, si vous devez mourir (Do what you must, die if you must)


The signature was unmistakable and Alexandre smiled, reassured that it was real.

            “What did it say?” Dash inquired.

            “Just business,” Alexandre chuckled. 



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