So, as you all may or may not know, I try to make a post regularly...usually once a week. And I try to make that day Sunday. Not for any asthetic reasons er whatnot, but, more of a convenience for me.
And here we are.
At one in the morning.
Summer is kind of busy for me, if you can't tell. And the fact that I may or may not be gone for 8 days next week isn't helping. Not my choice, mind you.
So I cringe at my tardiness. I weep for my stolen time. I mourn for the ideas that have no chance of being made.
But, what can I do, really? Short of ignoring things that obviously need my attention, and not 'paying my dues' when I need to, I'd have to be like, a time lord er something. Or...time wizard. Time supreme-master-infinite-awesome-overlord-diety. With an ocarina and the phone booth from Bill & Ted.
All this, mind you, is me leading up to this, my eventual apology.
I'm sorry. <3
I have but one thing to offer tonight. And, honestly, it's not even all that wonderful. It was written in 2000 to boot.
For a friend, at the last minute, for Halloween. And the only copy I have is one that she typed & emailed out herself, so it's chock full of un-English stuff.
More on that stuff later, though.
Anyway...on with....the thingie. Heh...
November 14th. A day I'll live to remember.
Three newly accused witches to set before a judge and jury, with the hopes of something to do this afternoon...namely, an execution. It was very likely they would die, though, considering how judge McCain has only ever let one person go - his son. And out of the thousands trialed, including his own wife, all have met their fate by the fire all too soon. Puritans were sticklers for things like that.
Will the accused step forward please? And...how do you plead?"
"Sir...I think I speak for my sisters when I say we are not the deamons you think us to be. We are law abiding--"
"Quiet! I shall give you one last chance. Plead possesion now, and perhaps I will let you live.
Otherwise...start begging the jury now."
The courtroom was bustling over with conflicting thoughts and deadly ideas. The children stood there, plae and clammy, scared to death of what was all around them. McCain was growing increasingly impatient as the voices grew louder with every second that passed by. Salvation was slipping away before them.
"Dear people of the jury, have you reached a verdict?"
"Yes, your Honor. We have. We the jury find the defendants...guilty of all charges!"
Guilty of all charges. It pierced through the room just as a bullet would through the air. Stillness shattered everyone's ears, and time was lost for only a moment for everyone but the children.
"I, judge McCain, upon hearing the judgement of the jury declare that Mary, Christine and Mark Tucker are hereby sentenced to death by burning at the stake. Execution will be carried out one hour from now."
The elected guardsmen carried all three of them away to a mossy, damp, pitch-black cell where they were told to repent before God. There, they sat, fearful and crying, awaiting the fate and fury at hand. Time raced away, and soon the moment arrived. The death of innocence.
The same two people who had locked them in the darkness came back to deliver them unto the crowd. They pushed and knocked people out of the way...the judge had wanted a fast exectuion. The stakes were set in a nest of hay, smothered in a flamible liquid. Mary, Christine and Mark didnt fight when they tied them to the poles...it was useless. The crowd cried for their blood, so the executioner didnt keep them in anticipation for long. The torch was dropped, and the flames engulfed them all. God only knows how much pain they went through. Their screams could be heard for miles away, and the smell of burning flesh was there for months after. I still remember it now years later.
After all, I was there.
Yeah, so, like I said...
Written in October of 2000, when I just turned 17 a few months before. This is what I was doing during my history class that day, so, 45 minutes or so this took to scribble out. For my friend, who had asked me the period before, because later that night she needed a story to read to...some youth group thingie. And she specifically told me not to write anything stereotypical, so I went with witch death.
Yes, for 10-12 year olds.
Does that make me horrible? Maybe.
I didnt think so at the time, though. Much like a lot of things...
That's history now.
Leave any comments/questions/flames/praises/baked goods below.