Salem’s tale

   I’ve been standing here for hours. Straightened up, like a stiff board. Every fibre of my being is trembling, my hands are shaking, my legs are shivering. I became a fragile, a delicate leaf hanging on a bare tree. And a huge crowd is watching me, paying attention to whatever I’m doing. Whether I’m breathing or moving.

   ‘Should she suffer, we all will be safe!’

  They’re saying I have to suffer. I must suffer because of my sin. The sin that has been hiding in my bloodline for decades. They’re revoltingly shouting, their eyes sparkle maliciously. Soon I realize – they want me dead. Dead in the ground.

  Slowly I notice, I’m covered in vivid red blood. I tenderly stroke my knee-length raven hair, but it’s wet. I have absolutely no idea how to get out of this uncomfortable situation. I try to repress my thoughts, not to think about despair. I deliberate every possible decision. However, I have no choice.

  It’s a lost battle. I’m incapable of being my own saviour – I slowly cease to exist. I clap my hands together. They’re ice cold. I’m still hearing the echo of my audience’s cheering, how they cherish me, how much they appreciate me. I start to pray. There’s nothing much I could do.

  ‘Oh, my Lord, my one and only, you shall pity me. Help, help is necessary, help is needed, help... You’re the only one who knows how hopeless I am.’

  A drop of tear comes streaming down my face. It’s picking up speed, it’s running and running and running. Until it reaches the ground. And in that moment, I feel the freedom in my veins. The magic. Suddenly, I can fly through the air, I can curse the peculiar ones who wished for my death. I feel like a witch. Like a real witch. Or maybe I am. I just need a broom and a pointed hat.

Herki Hanna   IX. H