"Giles Corey"
When the sheriff took me upon the field outside the courthouse, only one thought ran throughout my mind: that I would not be returning to Salem Village alive. The September sky loomed over my head as the sheriff bound my legs and feet together. I lay on the ground helpless as the first rock was placed on my chest.
"Giles Corey," the sheriff questioned, "did you or did you not participate in the act of witchcraft?"
I remained silent to his pointless questions. I know that he knows within his heart that I not be a wizard, or practice the art of witchcraft. Why bother answering a question where no answer will be suitable? Instead, I taunted him; "More weight."
The sheriff piled another rock on my chest. It wasn't as bad at the moment. The weight was extreme and heavy, but bearable enough to not make me crack under pressure. He then queried again, "Giles Corey, is thou a witch?"
I smiled sarcastically back at the sheriff. "More weight."
The third rock made the pain excruciating. The pain was immense and fierce. The only thing that stopped me from giving in to making a false confession was the thought of my family: should I confess to a charge that I'm innocent, my property will be seized and auctioned. If I die without confessing, I can keep my property for heirs.
The sheriff took a deep breath. "If thou confesses, I shall lift this weight from off thy chest. If you wish to keep the weight on, you will be crushed to death. I shall try again: Giles Corey, has thou performed magic or any other form of wizardry or witchcraft?"
I gasped to speak from the pressure upon my lungs. "More weight."
The sheriff placed another rock on my chest. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was very angered at me. "Confess! Confess that you are a witch!"
"More weight."
He placed another heavy rock on me. "CONFESS!"
"More weight…"
He placed another heavy rock on me. He then put his hands at his knees and sighed. "If thou should not confess, then may you die out here with the weight of your burden!"
The sheriff stormed off back to the courthouse and had left me alone out in the field. Now I was alone. If only Abigail Williams and that sister of hers Betty hadn't evoked the spirit of Lucifer upon our village, I would not be sentenced to die out here in the middle of a field. Her and her sister danced and practiced witchcraft with their slave from Barbados and have damned all of us for eternity.
All of which brings me up to date: September 19, 1692. I lay on this field still with the rocks on my chest. The pain is so extreme that my body has grown numb from it. I can't hold it anymore. I know that soon I will have to buckle to the weight and allow the rocks to crush in my rib cage. I cannot stand trial for a crime I had not committed, but yet I shall die from it. Why God has been so cruel to me and allowed these people to leave me for dead I will never know; but I know that in his actions, he has purpose.
I can't keep on anymore. I have to die. There is no other escape from it. The rocks are too heavy; it's been too long…
I hope my family knows how much I love them.