Marybelle Fisher Narrative

This warm June afternoon, I live in the Protestant village of Salem, Massachusetts, year 1692. Being a mere girl, I help my mother out at home with cleaning, tending to the farm, taking care of my younger siblings and many more chores. My older, and eldest sibling John is at school practicing literature and medicine as my father did before him. Everyday, he passes the town's courthouse who host trials starring witches prosecuted for doing the devil's work. It was rumored Marybelle Fisher was to be trialed today. She was not much older than myself, only taller and maybe prettier. For why the towns people think of her as a witch I may never know. With a fresh pan of bread in my between my oven mitts I hear John's abrupt entrance, almost knocking

John and I join a crowd of maybe 20 people by the noose and stage, almost waiting to see a play. We stand towards the end getting a good look at the activity on the stage. Ms.Fisher steps up to the rope, hands bound and lead by the executioner. She is a beautiful women with long brown hair with fair skin, blue eyes and a pretty face. My couldn't they take that old hag Mrs. Smith. It would come to no surprise if she was working with the devil. I'm almost crying looking at the poor girl's parents, sobbing as the executioner reads Marybelle's sentence. Marybelle crys, snotting all over herself with the noose around her neck, but the floor still underneath her. I can never imagine how scared I would have been in her position. Although it may seem selfish of me, I sure am glad I am not Marybelle Fisher. With a last ditch effort she snots through her tears and running nose "Please!" The ground beneath her falls. The wails of Mrs. Fisher are tuned out by the cheers of the crowd. We all disperse to our homes for supper as young Marybelle Fisher hangs in the sun's fire. A poetic justice of some sorts for a witch. I hoped her body to burn and be lifted off of this earth onto a better place for