The villagers didn’t understand. I was a doctor, not a
Satanist, or a witch, or a necromancer. I was a normal human being like them. I
used herbs and strange methods to heal people. My medicine is unconventional,
yes. I would never hurt anyone. A woman with a genetic disease that I was
trying to treat had died, there was nothing I could do. They thought that I had
poisoned her. If it wasn’t for my medicine she wouldn’t have even lived this
long anyways.
All my life I had been different. I loved to wander the
forest to search for herbs, to make tea or perfume. I loved to mix and create
little things like that. My mother encouraged me to learn how to use my talent
for medicine, so that I could help people. I healed so many. People started
saying that I was a witch serving Satan, tricking them into thinking I was a
healer only to poison and kill them. They said I would soon sacrifice them to
the devil. Why would I do such a thing? I was born and raised in this town,
among these people. So were my family for generations before me, but they
didn’t think anything of it. They were convinced that I was evil.
They laughed as they drug me from my home, men grabbing me
by my hair and arms while I kicked and struggled against them. They pulled me
into the street and threw me to the ground. More men took their place and tied
my hands behind my back, then they grabbed me again. It was a riot, people
holding torches and shovels. “Witch!” they screamed,” Demon!” they yelled. I dared
not retaliate, I might be clubbed if I dare say they were wrong. I felt the
hair ripping out of my scalp as the men drug me by it. Savages. My wrists started bleeding from the rope rubbing against
them harshly. I focused on the pain, distracting myself from my nearing end.
I didn’t cry as they dragged me towards the tree. My knees
scraped across the rough gravel, bleeding and bruising. I didn’t scream as they
tied the noose around my neck, or when they poured the cold gasoline on my body.
“Any last words, witch?” I hung my head, only looking at the ground. They laughed
again. They were amused at my agony. They didn’t want a witch dead, they were
bored and wanted a show. They pulled the noose tighter around my neck, then
took a torch and lit the gasoline covering my body. I screeched as my skin
melted off of my body, I was being cooked alive. They started to pull the rope
tight to hang me from the tree. I choked on my screams, I couldn’t breathe. I struggled
as I hung in the air, swinging around like a fish out of water. They laughed
more. I started to tremble, I didn’t have enough energy to swing anymore. Why didn’t
my neck snap? Why won’t this end?
I finally fainted from lack of oxygen, I dreamt of a meadow
with all of the flowers and herbs I could ever want. It was beautiful. I was in
my own little world, I helped the sick animals. I used the honey from bees in
my tea, and made my own cottage in the woods near that meadow. That was heaven.
I slept forever and never woke up.
Original Work by P.H.
