Random Impulse

This is what came about from Exercise One in the Steering the Craft book. It is also what inspired the short story I'm writing for class... I'll write about something happy like bunnies, butterflies and fairies eventually.

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Every morning when I wake up I can still feel the chard bits of my flesh flaking away with the morning’s cool breeze, I can feel the stream of blood running down my finger tips as the ropes that bond me buried themselves deeply in of my skin. I can still feel the raging fire licking and wrapping itself around me. I can still hear my own screams and cries for mercy in the hollow holes in the side of my skull that were once my ears, before the fire’s caress.  I can still see the faces of those people, the people that were suppose to protect and care for me, which tied me to the stake and set the hay at my feet on fire. And I hate them all, hundreds of years later they still plague my sleep, they still haunt me. All for something I had no control over… something that got me burned at the stack for being a witch when I was thirteen years old. A biological trait passed down from my parents, which gave me enough strength and power to survive their supposedly holy flames and feast upon sweet revenge…which I took piece by piece from their flesh.

What am I? 

Retribution. 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/vickytreleaven/4425675930/