by mjk
I stayed near the edge, not willing to join the gathering around the pyre. They lobbed stones and hurled insults at the bound body of Hortenzia. Each blow that struck reverberated in my body, yet never once did she flinch. The priest stood close, holding a torch to the kindling in one hand and a book in the other. The flames grew higher with each taunt from the mob, filling the air with the scent of burning fibers and smoking flesh. When my heart couldn't bare the silence of her cries, I ran off into the fields, wailing for her.
Priest
by mjk
There’s a witch in every town I visit. She’s always easy to find, as all the locals beseech her for remedies. I accuse, flashing the word of the Almighty before their eyes, and they build the pyre. It’s a relatively painless task, convincing them their healer is in league with the devil, and I’m able to move on quickly with little to no dirt on my hands. I always start the fire and always leave before the screaming ends. Yet as Hortenzia burned, I lingered, for her eyes had caught mine and she uttered no cry from which to run.
Fire
by mjk
I knew when I first saw the priest walk into town that I was as good as dead. I had heard of these “men of God” who roamed the countryside, accusing women of demon orgies and condemning them to death by fire. I have never feared fire nor any element created by Mother Earth, yet my heart still cried upon receiving my death sentence. I look through this flickering furnace of my demise to see my neighbors concentrating their hate, the priest cowering behind his book, and my beloved running off into an empty blue sky. Mercy arrives soon after.
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