The Soul's Needs *unedited*

Prologue

          September 24, 1692 Salem, Massachusetts

"Burn thy witch! Who terrorizes this town!" "Save our children!" I hear shouts from the streets beside me. My trial was unjust, they didn't even give me a chance to explain myself. They only arrested me because of my reputation.

I was known to be able to convince anyone to do anything with a flutter of the eye. What witchery.

Sweat beads form on my head from anxiety, the church leaders held my by the arms, guiding me towards the stake they were to tie me up on and burn me alive with.

stopping just in front of the wooden stake, I feel that familiar sharp pain behind my eyes and my vision blurs with tears, I was so scared.

I hear growling (and in an attempt to somewhat muffle the people shouting around me) I glanced at the two fighting dogs on the side of the street, bearing their rotten teeth to each other. Craving blood, dominance, or simply just fun? How could I tell. In a way there just like the towns people around me. All craving one of the three, All bearing their rotten, yellowing teeth at me, unknowingly proving the presence of one of the cravings they so desperately held.

The church leaders roughly untie my wrist, flipping me behind and retying them to the wooden pole.

I yelped. The skin covering my back had a fresh, sensitive carving bleeding down my back.

The priest had told the townspeople that it was for good measure, to show mercy on my soul as I was condemned to hell. He was lying, he meant so much more than that, so much more when he stripped down my dress and carved his sharp blade into my back.

My bare feet struggled to find foundation against the hay placed under me, I look at the towns people surrounding me, screaming profanities as my executioner, the preist appears from the crowd with a torch. Out of the corner of my eye I see two ominous hooded figures peek out the alleyway. How strange.

Suddenly, I feel a warmth underneath my feet, I look down at the fire crawling up towards my skin. Panic sets in as I throw my head back and beg mercy from the god who demands suffering "Oh god! Save me from this death! Please I cannot bear it! Oh god oh god!" Tears roll down my cheeks as I beg the god above me to show mercy, the god who took my baby away from me, the god who watched as I tried my hardest to defend my innocence against the stone wall of a jury.

I was so caught up in my begging I didn't quite notice the fire burning the bottoms of my dirty feet. I don't know how to describe such a pain. it was almost like a sharp, aching sting. It showed no mercy as the flame eagerly embraced the calloused skin of my feet, and I let out a scream as it caught onto my ripped skirt, spreading to my ankles, and as it noticed the hair that engulfed my legs it didn't hesitate to crawl up strand by strand to my knees.

I glared with great loathing at the townspeople before me, they were laughing. They were laughing.

Agness Barr, a plump woman who showed great pride in her bratty children was whispering to her husband, her frizzy brown hair stuck to her forehead from the heat of flames below me.

Her husband, Thomas Barr turned to her with a gleeful smile before pointing his freakishly upturned nose back to me "There is no god who could give you your purity back! Not after committing such a sin-  a sin you will never be clean from!" He shouted with a smile.

The townspeople howled with laughter.

Like a bull charging forward, the fury- the indignation surged through me, it was almost stronger than the dancing flames below me, and although I was never a witch. I couldn't help the words that escaped my throat. "I curse you all! To an eternity of suffering! Your bloodline shall suffer the consequences of unjust punishment, and the pain you will feel will be worse than the depths of hell you all will go to!" I wailed with a strain.

The townspeople froze. the words they were planning to chant- caught in their throats. The rocks kids were planning to throw- were secured steadily in their balled up hands- their filty, scraped up hands. They all looked to each other, before looking at the priest, John Cezey. He was a thin man, his malnourished body constantly shook from exhaustion, as it took great strength to hold himself up with calves the size of an apple.

His droopy brown eyes widened with terror and he looked around at the scared faces of the people before him. "What do we do now?" An earnest voice spoke up. William Beckwith, a young, timid boy who had just turned 16 stood alone.His parents had died 3 years ago. His father died from an angry bear while hunting. Mauled so grotesquely that the town only knew it was him by the uneaten pudding his wife had given him for a snack. Williams mother died of starvation from refusing to eat anything out of grief. Willaim stared at John with worry and the townspeople waited impatiently for John's answer

"The witch has cursed us." He stated, widening his arms as if offering a hug. "We must go to the church, and preach. We must baptize anyone who has not yet been granted protection from the lord,  and we must worship all night to make sure of our safety." John said in a steady voice, but no man could mask the fear that colored his tone.

The townspeople all gave eachother one last look before they scurried to the church behind me.

I threw my head back against the pole, my words had succeeded in shooing away the townspeople and rewarding me in a quiet- yet still painful, death.

The agonizing pain had now reached the tops of my legs, I couldn't help the guttural, barbaric cries that escaped me. I closed my eyes once again and imagined the flames slowly, withdrawing. I imagined all the particles within me healing. Refurbishing my body with strength and easing whatever pain was left, but my imaginations could not prevail over reality.

I heard quiet, almost silent footsteps approaching and cursed myself. I wanted to be alone.

My eyes opened, and I saw the two hooded figures from earlier gradually, and unhurriedly approaching me. The tears in my eyes prevented me from seeing clearly but I could make out the bucket they carried and a guilt- stricken face poking out from the white hood of one of their cloaks

The fire had engulfed my hips, I couldn't stop screaming. The pain was tormenting, anguishing.
I thought of what created the flame, and came up with Mother Nature. Then I tried to think of Mother Nature, her flame was so quick and eager to bring her child back to the world -back to nature,that she no longer cared if her flame would cause misery, all Mother Nature cared about was that her detached creation- humans, could once again be one with the land, their ashes shall be mixed with the soil, and embraced by the new life they will help grow.

Nature did not stay on my mind for long as the pain only grew into harrowing torture at best. My skin blistered and boiled, bled and burned, it mangled and melted with the dancing of the fire.

I knew I could not handle such a pain for much longer, and as it reached my mid waist I knew what I must do. I prayed for my mommy, prayed for my dada who traveled to visit my auntie. I prayed for their wellbeing, and that when they come back my burned and malformed body would not still be on this pole.

Then, as I remembered the sweetest moments of my life, I brung my head forward- then trashed it against the pole with a bang. I remembered baking bread with my mother, sitting in her lap. The smell of the dough causing me to drool on my skirt while my mother giggled.

I slammed my head against the pole again, ringing pulsated through my ears and my vision blurred. I bit my lip and slammed my head again. I remembered playing with the girls in town, chasing eachother through the meadows behind the tree line and giggling whenever we would get mud on our dresses

I slammed my head again, and this time- my intentions shone through. My vision blacked, and my body went limp as my consciousness faded.

If I had payed attention to the hooded figures below me, i might've stopped, I might've watched as they used a bucket of water to extinguish the fire in the hay, watched as they carefully climbed up the burned mound, and watched as the figure with the guilt- stricken face hopped up and bit her sharp fangs into my unharmed shoulder.