Prelude
Her body scraped the ground as the villagers dragged her to the Pyre. They tried everything to make her confess her sins for the plagues that had infested the village. She had nothing to do with everything that’s been happening. All of this only because she knew some herbs to cure a woman’s stomach pains! She struggled as they tied her to the pole, protesting, pleading and begging to anyone who might listen. No one cared. With horror Abigail watched as the priest, her priest, Father Sam who listened and let her confide in him lit the pyre and claimed her as a witch.
Her screams ricocheted through the air as the fire licked at her feet, blistering her torn skin. The crowd screamed around her, thirsty for blood, her blood. Abigail cried, begging for release. She did nothing! Why are they burning her?
“Burn the witch!”
“Let the flames cleanse her of evil!”
“Die Witch!”
Abigail wailed as the flames burned the flesh from her feet, crawling up her legs, attempting to lick at her bound hands.
“I didn’t! I didn’t bring the plague!” she denounced.
Those screams were falling on deaf ears as the villagers continued to sneer and scream for her head.
Abigail’s cries echoed over the forest, scattering birds into the air. As the flames hit their peak, charring what once was the beautiful young girl the sky opened up into a downpour as if God himself was crying.
