Stuck in a witchy past | Teen Ink

Stuck in a witchy past

May 28, 2010
By EmiEm SILVER, Northampton, Pennsylvania
EmiEm SILVER, Northampton, Pennsylvania
5 articles 10 photos 6 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I wasn't sitting in the desert in rave wear thinking about Simon Cowell when I was on acid."
~Adam Lambert~

"The work offered by organized crime must have an attraction to the insane."
~Dr. Crane/Scarecrow~

Fifteen years old. That's how old I was te first time that anyone ever realized how special I was. My kind were hard to find, and when we were found(that is if we were found at all)the whole town went into an uproar. Cries of "Satan!" and "Witch!" would fill the air and all the children wouldpeek shyly out the windows to see who had hidden themselves among them so well. Special children like me were hard to find because all ofthem were burned without question. I had been ambidextrous, in life that is. My name is Sage Marie Maslin and this is my story.


The town where I lived was just on the outskirts of New York. Nobody paid much attention tous so we were still kind of stuckin the old days. Many of the elders of the town still believed in the practice of hunting witches. They would make upany excuse just to kill an innocent person they deemed "witch". For some reason they were particularly averse to those who could write with both hands, that included me.

Often times they would settle for alienation, but recently they had been getting restless and wanted bllod spilled. It always ended the same. The accused would be put on trial by the elders(who always found them guilty). Then they would be sentenced to either death or exile. Those exiled would have to spend a week in the no-mans-land, they usually sauntered back all nonchalant like it had never happened and insert themselves back intotown life. But this time it was my life that hung on the balance of two words, death or exile.

I was dragged out of bed by a pair of cold hands that belonged to the town accuser. My mother was screaming, but her sobs were soon muffled by fathers shoulder. I plodded along between the accuser and another man, possibly an elder. As we entered the courthouse the soft light of hundreds ofcandles lit my face. The process of the court went by so fast. All I remember was an angry elder violently brandishing a slip of paper that ihad practiced writing on.

"Did you or did you not write on this slip of paper?" he yelled. Instinctively I moved away from his angry beet-red face. He laughed triumphantly and pointed down at me. "Ha! You see? She shies away from truth! I deem her witch! Witch!"

"No! She's merely a child! What do you expect from her? She's afraid." my father tried to defend me against the harsh rulingof the judge.

"I saywe nip it in the bud! Death!" called one of the jurors. An avalanche of sound assaulted mt ears as the rest of the elders agreed. In the chaos of the court room my father and mother approached me. Each of them took one of my hands and held on tight.

As I was dragged away from my parents my mother againstarted to cry. In the town square there was a permanent fixture used for the burning of 'witches'. Rough hands tied my arms all the way behind me and behind the post. Reality set in and i began to cry.

If you haven't had a near death experience then you have not even the faintest inkling of how absolutely horrifying itis to know that death waits on your door step. The moment my skirts were lit I began to covet the lives of the other children my age. They had their wole lives ahead of them still, and who knew what lay in their future.


Death is a fathomless thing of its own. Nobody living can even begin to understand what it was like to pass into eternal life. It was nothing like any author or poet has ever written. As I looked down upon the scene below me I noticed my parent kneeling in the dirt as near as the heat of the blaze would allow, their prayers for my passing tacit upon their silent lips.

The feelings of joy and freedom were infinitesmal compared to the feeling of utter loss. Try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to leave the scene before my eyes. Mother and father kneeling in the dust like beggars, begging for their dead daughterslife and the joyous laughter of the elders. The two groups were so dissonant that I felt anger well up inside me. Who were these men to bring innocents like myself to such a death? The image of the laughing elders was so grotesque that I was able to make myfinal goodbyes and peel myself away from the horror that was my death.


My name is Sage Marie Maslin and you have my side of the stiry. There are no accounts from the other side. I'm happy where I am, so don't mourn my death. I've learned that even themost vile people have their reasons.

I just have one request for you, could youplease tell my mother that I love her?

The author's comments:
this was orriginaly a story for extra credit in my american literature class but i really liked it so i posted it up here!

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