Am I crazy?

I see people, burning on stakes. A word is highlighted. Salem. I hear the screams of young girls and the cackling and squealing of others. Ifeel bitter tears run down my face. I am angry. I am angry at the young girls burning. Why didn't they run? Why didn't they escape? I see the ones who trussed up the girls bring in a last girl to be burned. She is gagged and bruised and bleeding. Her eyes are open and blank, yet she still breathes. Enraged, with a primal cry I release a billowing force! I watch as light glows around the girls burning to their deaths. Tears begin to streak the faces of the tormentors as they fouly begin to plead for their lives. I awaken to these same cries. I look each and every persecutor in the eye. Another energy, red with hate, fills me, then leaves. The sound of crackling flames fills the air. I walk away as the tormented watch their jailors burn, scream, and die.

It all happened quickly. Am I truly crazy? The vision of burning death... Was it worth their lives? But they was wrong and evil, who the burned ones were. But they were right, I suppose, but not on everything. My name and life, no longer live with freedom or choice, because of them. But remember this: I am and have always been, a witch.