Cat's Own Torture

I was drowning. As water filled my lungs. As I was slowly, repeatedly brought up and down, up and down. I was never allowed out of the water for long enough to even partially fill my lungs with air. Up and down, a motion that I had never felt before. A muted screaming of men, women who I had once thought my friends telling me to confess and die. When brought up all the way at last the crowd quieted and I was once again told to confess. To confess to witchcraft, to end this torture, but I once again denied and tried to cough up the water that now filled me and to gulp down the sweet air I thought I would never again taste. But then down again. Up and down again and again, water taking over my body once more, controlling me, forcing me to wish for the end. I could feel myself losing this battle, but still I remained awake. Going up and down until brought up to no doubt be questioned again. This time when brought up I could no longer take the air or handle the water that was slowly consuming me. I fainted, assuming they would end me.

When I awoke I was in a dark chamber left only to me and my memories of what was going on. I remember, we had been caught, my friend and I. The baker had found us during a séance that an old deceptive witch had convinced us to do. I shouldn’t have helped the witch; my friend has already been killed, because of me. I remember, the witch escaped capture by transforming into a cat, and of course it was the traditional black cat. He had chosen us to be killed. I heard a knocking on the door, or was it simply a trick of my mind. Water still filled my brain, and the dank, stuffy air starved my lungs. I should not reply, I told myself, he could be the death of you. He could be the devil himself here to take me away. Then, out of the corner of my eye I noticed the cat, black as night. It was the witch! I could report him to the man outside. I could be saved. I told him to come in.

He entered, saw that I had woken, and took me away; I tried to warn him about the witch, though he didn’t listen. I never thought I would be upset to be lead up to the light away from the dank cell. They weren’t going to kill me quickly, I saw this now. I was taken to be pressed; I would slowly be killed by the weight of the stones up against me. They would get me to confess, then let me die a painful death.

I lay down as I was told. I could feel the first rock as it was dropped down upon me. I could hear the terrible sound as my bone crunched, like a stale piece of bread being slowly ripped apart, from the sudden force. And the motion was repeated again, and the word I had quickly come to hate and fear came. Confess. I could hear the cruel command echo slowly through the vast sea of people I once trusted and cared for. I knew my fate would not get worse, there was no point denying, yet I did. More and more weight was adding, panging and shaking every bone in my body, knocking any air I had out of me. Surrounding me, killing me, slowly suffocating me. One by one, I didn’t know there were this many stones in all of Salem. Then once more I was asked to Confess, when I saw the sickly black cat. The very cat that had escaped death, and left me to pay the price, that had made me cause my own friend’s death. He sent into my mind using yet another witch trick. He said, “You could have been saved if you would have chosen me over your friend. You still can be saved. All you have to do is be with me. And we’ll be happy together for all eternity.” I heard myself let out a muffled scream with what air I had left, it was indecipherable. They did not notice the cat shaking his head and smiling in the background as I did. They thought I had confessed, as told. They did not see him become human, nor hear the whisper he had sent. He simply continued to look down and smile bitterly. We both knew my end was near, they is no worse way to die, under stones piled high and knowing your tormentor, murderer, was still alive and safe.  I gave in to the pressure and I slept, never to wake again.

When I awoke I was not dead as I had expected. I had no weight on me, I could finally breathe. Was I truly dead? No, but was I truly surrounded by the crowd that had followed me throughout my sufferings and sorrows? The family that had was comforted and loved me, but that now condemned me to death. They were screaming, no longer trying to make me confess to a crime I had not practiced and had merely been tricked into. Now they tried to end me. For the first time I noticed I was tied to a wooden pole. At my feet were my only friends, straw. It had been with me throughout my life, like my human friends, but also like them it would betray me. It took me a moment to realize what was going on, but soon I realized, I was being burned at the stake. The church had decided that being pressed was far too merciful a death for one like me. I wished to be back under and surrounded by the stones.

    Once all had realized I had once again awoken, the priest, my own father, chose to light the flame himself. The fire first engulfed the straw in a sudden deadly burst of fire. The flames slowly licked at the soft flesh on my feet, until I felt a slow deep knife burning through my flesh, yet I did not scream. I would not give the crowd, nor the cat, the satisfaction. I could feel the heat trickle up my back, I shivered, making the flame catch on the edge of my clothing. The fire began to spread with new found intensity, the crowd roared with excitement. The fire itself seemed to want me dead, the wind around me kept the flame close, slowly ever so slowly burning layer upon layer of skin, as though I was an apple ready to peel. It danced around me and I could now only see red where my feet once were. I could feel the fire burning the wood against my back. It slowly crawled against my skin, another knife that had decided to join in and peel upwards taking off layer upon layer of my skin. I could feel myself squirm against the pole, even though I knew there was no hope. Without thought I screamed, and a cheer arose from the crowd of my old friends. The flame kissed my hair sending pain through my head, it became a slow throb against my temples. The color had matched my already orange and red hair, until the flame was against my scalp and my hair had become no more then short, choppy, gray straw. I refused to look down as I felt the flames crawl and scrape against the sensitive flesh of my stomach, though I could no longer feel the pain in my legs from standing, I needed to sit down. Being pressed would have been a merciful death. I relished the thought of the last flame burning into the last of my remaining skin and finally letting me rest. Sweet rest. I let my thoughts drift, thankfully my time was almost up. I could once again see my dear friend, who had been killed long before me, whose death I had caused. Then… Then I remembered the man who had escaped the fiery depths of hell and put us here in his place. I couldn’t die yet…

Reviews

[KanaDream]

This is amazing. I read The Crucible not too long ago and this brought up the cruelty of humans and their unwillingness to listen or accept anything when they are afraid. The detail makes me cringe. You've really outdone yourself... Great great job. Keep Dreaming.

[writ rajat]

As I read the story yesterday I was dreamt it tonight