How Burns the Fire
Before my flesh feeds the flames, I smell smoke from the acidic plume that billows around me. There is a rawness within my throat with every breath I fight for. They built my pyre using wood dampened by last nights spring rain, now instead of burning brightly it smolders, causing an overpowering haze. The chanting from the crowd slowly turns to coughs as their lungs fill with the noxious fumes and their eyes water. Outwardly, I smile bravely at my tormentors, my accusers, judge, and jury. Inwardly I can barely contain my emotions, if it weren’t for the ropes that bind me to the stake I would have crumpled with fear a long time ago. My hope for a cessation of my sentencing is no more than a dream of a united world. Beautiful in thought, unattainable because of the men in charge who will never relinquish power freely.
