I'm certain it was a pleasant enough life. I'm also certain it was a
life of secrecy. The part that I'm most certain about, and least happy about, is that
I betrayed my coven. I sold out my most loved sisters and brothers,
so that my life might be spared.
They were burned, one at a time.
Screaming.
The hideous smell of
burnt flesh.
Vomit.
They were burned, and
I was forced to watch, tied to my own stake. The smell is the part I remember most. The pain was
horrid, for the first minute, or so.... after that, the flesh is so charred, it feels nothing.
Nothing is worse than the smell of your loved ones burned bodies lingering in the air, as your own legs cook and boil, as the smoke blinds you and you
dry heave at the pain, and because of the stench.
It is a debilitating knowledge. I can not deal with a vivid image of a burned body.
It makes me wish to be ill. The scene in
The Bone Collector almost made me shiver and curl up in a little ball.
I clenched at my girlfriend, and she was surprised:
Few things bother me.