Story of a Witch

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Speech I wrote for a public-speaking contest when I was in grade 8, from the perspective of a witch who has been re-incarnated but remembers her past life.

Submitted: December 12, 2009

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Submitted: December 12, 2009



Story of a Witch
You probably think I’m one whole person, standing before you now, talking to you. Most people who know me think that I’m one whole person. I’m not. I’m two people. One of them I can show in public, but the other I can only expose when I’m alone. When you pass me on the street, you pass the me that I dress up to hide her from you and your fears. 
I don’t want you to call her names turn away from her. I don’t want you to whisper mean things about her, and I don’t want her to have to suffer on account of your narrow-mindedness. Because of this I shield her from the world, tucked behind my eyes or hidden within my laughter. But when we get home, she doesn’t need to hide anymore. 
She comes out of the darkness, and under dim lights so we aren’t seen, we dance and we laugh. We laugh at your ignorance and the enormity of what you don’t know until we are dizzy, then we lay to sleep side-by-side, wondering what the new day might bring to us. Now you know that there’s two of me, and you almost know one of them. But what about the other?
I suppose I could tell you… but I don’t think I will. Instead I’ll give you some clues, and you can guess. I have abnormal abilities, like being able to walk safely through fire and talk to ghosts. I can jump from a cliff and land on my feet, and bring down the rain. 
I could even make you fall in love with me if I wanted to, although I don’t. But because of this, people like me were persecuted for years; accused of such crimes as theft, blasphemy, treason and murder. Such crimes we did not commit. And although they called us evil, we were only different, and they feared us. Now do you know who I am?
I am… one of a minority. The last time they burned me, five men beat me then threw me in a jail cell until dawn. When the rooster crowed, I was dragged to the town square and lashed to a post. Torches were set to the hay that was piled beneath my feet, and it took mere seconds for my skirts to catch fire. They watched in morbid fascination as I screamed in agony. 
Rippling painfully across my skin, the flames tore at my flesh like some ravenous animal. As the multitudes of people stared at me, they waited for the Devil to come claim my soul from my ruined body and take it with him back to Hell. But regardless of the intensity of their stares, all they saw was my head turn skyward, and my body to ash. 
But I’m back now, and after centuries of waiting and growing stronger, I refuse to be silenced by threats. This time you will not burn me and you will not drown me. My voice will no longer be a whisper in the shadows, but a strong, clear voice that gallops across the sky and is heard by all. 
As I soar across the moon, I will sing for Freya, Hecate, Kali, and Diana, the Goddesses who rescued my soul from its torment and brought me back again, strong, brave, and beautiful. I will sing for my sisters who died with me. And as I weave my song, the descendants of the ones who burned me will hear. They will know who I am. From where they stand they will shiver when they see me, and point up and whisper who I really am- “Witch!”

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