My neighbors suspect I had something to do with the deaths, as you would think. I was trying to make do by selling furniture from my father’s house, he would be very ashamed of me. When I walked down the streets people give me odd looks, I hear them whisper, “Witch.” The younger girls in this town are starting to behave quite oddly. They are all daughters of the wealthy men, some even more than my father. Last month a horrid young girl started flinching and screaming and accused me of causing her to be that way. The lawmakers came, searched my house, found one of my father’s old liquor smuggling bottles and said that it was a potion bottle. They searched the attic and found my old dollies, one of them has blond hair and they say that it is a “voo-doo” doll of one of the inflicted girls.
None of the people in this town can be trusted. They think I am a depressed, widowed, witch. Now, they cuff my hands and bring me to the courthouse and tell me to wait outside. They carry my dolls and my father’s liquor bottle into the courthouse. In the breif moment that they opening the door I hear screaming and argueing. I see another woman not very different than me; not very good looking, in her twenties, a mole on her neck, and tears on her face. I consider resisting these soldiers tight grasp, but I rethink my plan upon seeing their large, muscular arms. I know what has happened to the others before me, they all go to the town square, or to the county jail. I look around frantically searching for someone, anyone to rescue me from my impending death. The state has their evidence, but I can assure you I am being framed.
I stay quiet while waiting now. It has been a full twenty-four hours since the brought me here to wait, the case is running long and I haven’t eaten for a day. Even the soldiers who hold my arms are starting to tire, this would be the perfect time for a getaway, but I too am too weak. The reality of my situation is finally reaching me. My life is over, even if I do get out of this trial with no punishment, I will be constantly mocked and humiliated. My life is in the hands of rich men from near and far who volunteer to be part of the jury. I know not to speak if not addressed in a trial, but that is practically all.
Before I was put on trial, I saw people calling me a witch behind my back, than, a whole jury of people are called me one. I know that I didn’t cast any spells on that the girl.
Done. My life is over. It’s off to town square for me, next Saturday they say. The trial was quick, like a snake on it’s way to attack. Slow and prowling, jumps up to bite you, then the bite. The people who sat in the courthouse stared at me with the utmost disgust. I am now tied up in front of the courthouse. People come at me and yell at me. I can’t understand most of what they’re saying, choose to drone them out, once, just once though, I yell back. A lady dressed in a white and pink dress came up to me with her little boy dressed in a navy suit. They were an odd looking bunch with quite a lot to say. “Witch!” she yelled. The boy repeated her words like an echo. Words kept flowing out of her mouth, so I decided, if she wanted to think that I was a witch, I’d be a witch. “I conjure you, daemon, whoever you may be, to torture and kill, from this hour, this day, this moment,” I chanted these words rolling my eyes and swaying my head. She ran away tugging her boy along and my name was called, it was time.