"The
torture continues even as I have given up any hope for rescue. She places
every bit of wood as carefully as if it were a delicate and frail object
that might break and bring disaster.
Every
single branch added to my pyre shall bring more pain but the more there
are the quicker I will burn and the faster this will all be over.
Has
this creature no soul? Placing the instruments of my death with meticulous
care, the seconds are minutes and the minutes become hours.
This
is the last branch, she says. That's it? This little pile is to provide
all the flames that are to consume me? It's never enough! This fire
will burn too slowly!
The
foul creature has left me with the promise that my sentence shall be
carried out at dusk. I am then to stay here, a prisoner to evil, with
death in the form of a pyre at my feet, until the sun is setting. I
cry at my
live
as time wails away at a pace akin to standing still.
The sun is disappearing over the horizon, and true enough, the witch
is back, a torch ahand.
The
heat from the torch burns my skin even from afar. To think that in moments
my very body shall be engulfed in that fire.
She
teases me with the torch, waving it so close to my body as to have me
perspirate sweat and blood on my forehead. At least get it over with,
foul wench, and quit this game. It is my life you're playing with!
I
can hear the crackiling of the wood as the torch is lowered to light
the pyre. I hear myself cry out in terror as the kindling sets alight,
and my chest heaves at a frantic pace.
This
is it then. The torture of waiting for my end, all day, tied to a tree
in the middle of a desolate field, at the edge of a repudedly haunted
forest, has passed. The kindling is already blazing with flames. Haunted
this forest shall be for definate once this final stage is over.
My
body is trying to escape the inevitable as I feel it struggling in vain
to escape the flames that are already whipping up.
The
heat has numbed my senses, and although I see the fire grasping for
my clothes and my soft flesh underneath, I fail to feel any pain. I
see myself coughing from the choking smoke and feel my toes shuffle.
Is the agony yet to come or shall my death come easily?
I
have hoped to quickly. Already I feel the leather of my boots burn into
my feet, and I can follow the message of pain my nerves are sending
towards my brain as if it were running in slow-motion. In but in instant
I shall indeed writhe in agony.
I hear myself mutter a subdued 'Help...'"
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