A Witch by Last Resort.

We learned about witchcraft in my anthropology class-it's not the craft itself-it's the malcontent behind it. What if someone took up witchcraft to get revenge on the innocents killed in the Salem Witch Trials?

You deserve it.

I've made the carvings upon the bottom face of the table,

hidden but still remaining and just as effective.

You deserve it.

Digging up a worn moleskin bag from under frostbitten leaves,

emptying teeth, rolling out and about.

You deserve it.

Twisting a caught rat in twain and feeling the warmth in my hands

its blood going towards a noble purpose.

You deserve it.

Bringing forth a strung-up apple from cloth coverings,

the rose red of its autumn crop.

You deserve it.

A feather plucked from a scavenging crow,

a sure sign of a looming death nearby.

You deserve it.

Your excesss hairs and fingernails-

cast off but still your flesh nonetheless.

You deserve it.

Reading inked rabbit furs by candles made of fats,

sizzling, popping, crackling and bubbling down.

You deserve it.

Mother Earth's gifts of nuts, leaves, and berries

untouched and spared by the recent frosts.

You deserve it.

Dried gourds I snuck from the feasts-

seeds rattling inside like insect shells.

You deserve it.

Newfound bones of small fauna and owl pellets,

a flesh sacrifice from all sides.

You deserve it.

Words spoken in tongues I cannot begin to know,

that taint my tongue like fire's licks.

You deserve it.

I've avoided detection from the hypocrites thus far,

and you've spilled the blood of innocents in leau of mine.

You deserve it.

I thus am damning my soul to certain spiritual death,

the highest price I could ever pay.

You deserve it.

You cannot be allowed to continue this inquisition,

if I must, I will sign myself to the devil.

You deserve it.

And He would agree.