I close my eyes and rest my head on the stone wall. Seconds fade to minutes, which fade to
hours, and I don't know how long I've been here.
My cell door opens and I squint in the dim light. A different man walks through the door.
He looks like the kind of man who would have this job: a scruffy gray beard, soulless eyes, and
"Let's go," he says with a voice of stone. I stand and straighten my back, folding my hands in
front of me. He leads me out of the cell and stay as poised as possible.
As soon as we get outside I see a wooden stake. I know what Abigail was sentenced to death
for. She must have been accused of being a witch, and now I have to be burned at the stake.
Great. My first burning.
I have been dreading this death. The man is walking in front of me and one of the men that
brought me to the jail is right behind me. I look around. there is a forest to my left and a town to
Only when the time is right.
Once the men are about to bring me through the crowd, I twist and kick aimlessly. I heard one of them groan, confirming that I hit the jackpot. I make a dash for the woods, the leaves beneath me crunching. I heard violent yells, and more leaves rustling.
Of course they're going to follow me.
This man is fast. He sprints up behind me, and barrels onto my back, twisting my arms around
again in the process. This time, they are smart enough to tie my wrists.
Great, time to die.
I have been trying to defy the imminent deaths that I go through everyday, but nothing seems
Now I am accompanied by four men.
They lead me back to the circle, and rebind my wrists to the wooden pole. I watch solemnly as
they pour gas on the logs around me. One of the men smirks, and the crowd goes wild.
How could people live with themselves after doing this?
But in the crown, I spot the mysterious guy from the town yesterday. His face is blank, and only meets my gaze for a second. I don't understand. How do I know him? I feel like we are connected, somehow.
That's when they light it.
A man comes around, and throws a burning torch at my face. I turn my head and the hard wood
smacks my cheek. It's hot, and when the torch hits the logs below, they immediately flare to life.
My legs are burning.
Agony. This is pure agony.
They all cheer while my flesh is being scorched, and I die slowly.
The problem with being burned alive is that the brain is active the whole time.
Burning alive is considered the worst death possible.
I scream and writhe against the ropes, but nothing will save me.
No one will save me.