I stand with the wooden broomstick in my hand, looking down upon what will soon be my final resting place. The jagged grey rocks, slippery with sea spray and the falling rain, glint dully in the weak light the sun gives off from behind the clouds. I look down upon the foamy, churning sea as it slams against the cliff face, as though starving for my life, I can feel the raw power of the waves from here. The salty air is so cold on my skin, I'm dressed in easily disposable rags, shivering with cold and pure fear. The rags kind of symbolise me in a way. Easy to dispose of and not worth keeping. The wind whips my red hair behind me,it looks like there are a dozen frantic red snakes twisting and flailing, trying desperately to escape what is to come. My heart, my poor broken heart is pounding in my chest, it's almost painful, the blood surging through my veins as though determined to finish the job it is meant to do before it stops flowing forever.
Dimly, I hear the priest saying the prayers behind me, almost inaudible over the howling of the wind,cries of the swooping white gulls and the crash of the angry tide on the cliffside. He finishes with a flourish, and I shudder at the smile of anticipation on his face as in front of my entire village, he walks forward to send me plummeting over the edge. I remember the last woman he pushed, she'd screamed, begged and tried to escape, but he'd simply laughed, told her he would pray for her soul and threw her into the sea. She too, had done no wrong, except refuse to marry the man her father picked out for her. She'd been judged by the priest as 'evil' and in front of all of us, had thrown her to the mercy of the ocean.
My husband and my son died but three and twenty days ago, a freak accident involving the local horse and trap. The driver had lost control of the horse, it had kicked out and struck the trap, sending my son crashing against a stone, where he perished. My husband, oh my husband, he'd tried to save my boy, but the horse trampled him under hoof, and he died hours later. I lost everything that day, everything worth living for, and the priest had simply watched from the church while I ran to try and save my family. I calmed the horse to get it away from my husband as he lay bleeding on the ground, and I remember how he cried at the sight of our son, dead on the ground before us, how his eyes had closed, how his body slumped in my arms.. how his heart stopped beating in his chest before I could even call for help. The priest had concluded that I was a witch, all because I calmed the horse and held my husband as he passed on.
He took me away, there was pain, such pain have I endured, before I cracked from grief and torture and relinquished my life, confessed to being something I am not. He'd laughed then, and hurt me once more, before leaving me in a room for three days and nights with no sustenance, and taking me here on the very horse and trap that had killed my family. And here I am now, cold, fearful, and watching that terrible man walk towards me in the intention of pushing me into the sea. Why should I run? I have nothing left to live for. But that smug grin of the hunter cornering his prey causes a great rage to engulf me, I know now that he did kill my son, and my husband! He admitted it in the midst of my suffering, he, the 'holy man', is the cause of my sorrow! Noone has ever tried this before, I think, as he gets slowly closer, leering. He prepares to push me, gets up close, and I make my final move, grabbing him and pulling him over the edge with me. He screams as we fall, but I am at peace as together, we plummet down to the rocks below, and to the chorus of the roaring sea, my soul leaves the world behind once more.