Commune

Community. Now there was a deceitful word, if any. By uttering this word you are not only lying to yourself, but also being hypocritical. Essal knew better than to attach herself to such a futile collective term. By doing so she had not only sacrificed her life as an example to others, but also gained crimes she had never committed. Essal was aware all her life that the Human community was no place for such a unique person. Everything she had done all lead up to this moment, inevitably. She was not afraid, for she would fade away with the heretic voices screaming their own little rebellion inside her skull.1

She craned her neck and saw a glimpse of the huge fire dancing up into the night sky, beckoning her to come. That again was life deceiving her, it was not her choice to leave the world of the physical yet – the log she was tied to carried her, and in turn the community of Mankind carried and controlled it, their pitch forks in the air and their voices screaming curses. 2

Essal was no witch. In fact she had never believed in such foolishness. That was because she fully understood why the hazy fiction had come into being. Fear. Such a community the commoners are, that once one of them retreats to fear, the rest follow in the conformist fashion they are so accustomed to. It wasn’t the witches they were scared of, it was the unknown, paranoia preys on them each day, they have no-one to turn to, and they live in absolute fear of their authorities. They are only Human, after all, and they feel the need to channel their anxiety towards something they hate. 3

The fiery hell drew nearer; she could feel the heat on her face. The angry voices roared in her ears – trying to drown out her calming thoughts. Essal had learned that she could not change the community that hunted her with such ferociousness – she could not stop them prodding her, taunting her, hunting her. She could only change herself. She had changed and drifted from their collective, in turn she created a ripple that spread through their ranks, and very slowly more detached. That was her only means of rebellion against Human nature. She had started it, but she did not know when it would end.4

The log was lowered, and then turned upright. Several rodent-like people tied her into a new position, making it as tight and as painful for her as possible. She didn’t care. She watched the night sky, bats fluttering overhead. The log and Essal were carried up the makeshift stairway through the flames, and into the centre. She was lodged, her feet just touching the floor. The straw was placed, and the people retreated.5

And as the flames took hold of Essal and forced their way under her skin, she picked out the faces in the crowd whom she knew. There’s always hope, she thought… there’s always hope.6