Salem, 1692

The world is solemn on judgment day

The wind whispers through tall oak trees, their withered leaves slowly descend to the ground

Rain gradually collects on the cold, hard earth

The skies are a gray miasma of pale light, providing a melancholy glow over this scene

Along with the patter of rain, footsteps can be heard

Emerging from the households of liars, cutthroats, and victims as well

Regardless of status, join those who advance down this melancholy promenade

As embittered souls converge, palpable tension fills the air

The only fault of the accused was to live their lives devoid of fault

Only to become bound in these chains of hysteria

Forged from small, pitiful disputes amongst neighbors, even acquaintances

Now the congregation of empty allegations and false pretense takes form

Under the shadows of menacing wooden machinations,

Frayed rope swinging gently in the icy wind

The sun begins to set

Over the crude houses, over the barren fields of wheat

And over those whose lives are at an end

A light snow begins to fall, further chilling the landscape and its inhabitants

Now devoid of the peaceful, just façade

Warm, inviting hearths are dark, their comforting flames now extinguished

Beds lay empty, the night of corruption and paranoia has merely just begun

The crazed citizens begin their cries,

But the guilty speak not, their fates have been sealed

The dim glow of torches accompany shouts and chants in the brisk night air

Now the groups form

Servants of Mephistopheles diverge from the holy and pure

Casting together those who have been out-cast

Faces haggard and pale, transcending hopelessness,

Chains rattle as a painful ascent begins

To the noose, morbidly inviting

Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crows

The sun rises from the darkness of night, to reveal a new day in its wake

Citizens begin their daily tasks as usual, burying events of the previous night

Deep in their sub-conscience

Dawn’s light also reveals the ones that did not survive the night

Husks, human forms lacking warmth, voices forever silenced by tyranny,

Sway like scarecrows in the breeze, warding off any sense of rationale that once existed

In the holy town of Salem