Witch Hunt, Burned at the Stake 01

She'll be back. Yes, indeed she'll return and when she returns, she'd seek her revenge. Woe is the one she so cursed. Woe is he for he will receive her wrath as an unfairly accused and persecuted women tried as a witch and raped before being burned at the stake. How dare they do this to her? How dare they? She was just a beautiful, intelligent woman living alone who happened to have red hair. With all of them declaring themselves as Christen people, are they insane to so sexually used and abuse her?

They are the evil ones and the crazy ones and not her. Different than all the other women in their small puritan community, the women were all jealous of her because she was so beautiful and so sexy. Not blaming their men for leering at her while lusting over her, for her to so beguile their men to stare and to leer at her, she must be a witch. Definitely, the only explanation to explain the perversely perverted behavior of their men was to deem her a witch.

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Not happy here, hating this place, this time, and these people as much as they hated her, if only they knew that being burned at the stake was her only way to leave here to go someone else, what would they say? What would they think? As if the flames were a time machine that launched her forward in time and space, able to pick her year, month, and even down to the day with her potions and spells, she knew there were better times for her in the future. The numbers, all in the numbers, the numbers along with what she saw in her crystal ball, told her that she'd find love and happiness in the future on September 13, 2013.

As if the flames could launch her forward, she's lived in the dark ages before but this place, Salem Massachusetts, stuck here with the Pilgrims was a fate worse than death. Only, if she went that far enough ahead in the future, she inherently knew that the people living at that time would be more civilized and wouldn't be burning perceived witches at the stake. Should she be as unhappy as she is now and should she want to leave there too, the only way she could leave there was for her to set fire to herself.

"Burn the witch! Burn her! Burn the bitch!"

Yes, burn me, burn me, burn me, she chanted to herself with them. If only they knew that she wanted to and needed to be burnt at the stake, wouldn't they be surprised. She couldn't wait for the flames to ignite her as if she was a boaster rocket launched toward the future. A miracle that was her life, she couldn't wait to see what she would find in the future after leaving this life behind.

Out of control, consumed by anger and hatred for someone who was merely different from them, the crowd wanted her eradicated from their small, closed minded community. After receiving the verdict and the judge's blessing with a death sentence, what better way to kill her as if she's a weed, than to burn her? Free from the guilt of killing her, the God fearing and church going members of her community were only following the judge's orders to burn her. Perceiving her as a witch instead of a woman, in the eyes of their God, they did nothing wrong.

A time when men saw not much more of a woman than an ankle, she stood before them all naked with her tits, her arse, and her pussy totally exposed. With her red pussy as bushy as if it was already on fire and with her hair as wild as her blue eyes, she showed no embarrassment, shame, or remorse to be so nakedly exposed in public. Offering no resistance, they tied her to the stake and stepped back to light the fire. She lifted her head up to the sky and her lips moved as if she was talking to someone, issuing another curse, praying to God, or summoning the Devil.

As if watching a big screen TV or a live performance of a rock band with pyrotechnics, with the flames burning closer and licking at her feet, there were no cries of pain or screams for mercy from Flora. With just cheers from the crowd before her audience fell silent, there was only the crackling sound of the fire burning all of that wood, so much wood wasted just to burn her. Then, just before the flames reached her, all anyone could hear over the noise of the flames was what she so brazenly and chilling said in court. She now repeated again for everyone to hear.

"Three, two, one. Three, two, one. I curse you. I curse you. I curse you. In three hundred and twenty-one years," she yelled opening her blue eyes wide as if they were twin lasers to stare at Judge Robert Hall. "I'll whisper my words in his ear. For me, your kin will fall. His name is Robert Hall," she yelled over the noise of flames and the booing and harassment of the crowd that threw whatever they could find at her.

"The witch is dead! The witch is dead," sung the crowd and later stolen to use in the Wizard of Oz. "Ding, dong, the witch is dead!"

Seemingly waiting for the right moment, as if jumping through a window or launching itself in an open porthole to another time, space, and universe, her cat jumped into the flaming fire at the last second too. Then, in a burst of flames and a big ball of fire, when the fire reached the excess kerosene soaked in the wood around her feet, she was surrounded by fire. With the flames consuming her and with her and her cat engulfed in a flash of a brilliant, blue flame that shot up a thousand yards into the sky as if it were a booster rocket, she was gone in a flash.

Gone, gone, gone, she was gone. Totally disappearing as if she was never there, never burnt at the stake, and never even existed, Flora Radisson disappeared from the Earth in a flash of fire. Gone conceivably forever or for three hundred and twenty-one years, as she foretold but who would know, nonetheless for the time being, she was living there no more.

After the fire was out, accustomed to finding enough evidence of the one ordered burned at the stake for their family and friends to bury in a grave so that her immortal soul would ascend to Heaven, there was nothing left of her to find. Usually not much more than some charred bones, along with her skull, it was puzzling that there'd just be ashes and smoldering coals. As if the bonfire was a crematorium, did the fire burn so hot to leave nothing but ashes behind? If the fire did burn that hot, why did the fire burn so hot? Was it because she was really a witch? As if she was the resultant end of a magic trick and as if she was an illusionist instead of a witch, she was gone. As if there was no one and nothing burned at the stake but wood, the townsfolk and all of the relatives of Judge Robert Hall now and in the future were disconcerted by what happened there that day and by her witchy curse.

To be continued...