My last moments

The shadows stretched over the warped prison cell bricks like claws grabbing for a hold. I looked up from my corner as a drop of water hit my nose from the window. It was raining outside. I love rain, and all water, even though the only thing I had was the meager supply the guards brought me. I could see a lake from my window though. Oh how I longed to swim in it!
The grating of my cell door distracted me from the wonder of trickling water. Two guards were standing in the doorway, newly polished armor shining in the low lantern light.

"Get up." One barked at me. I obeyed slowly, my knees creaking from having not stood for so long.

"Where are we going?" I asked hoarsely, though I knew in my heart.

"There's a hot party out in the church square." The other guard laughed cruelly, gruffly shoving me forward. You think after all this time they could be a little nicer to me.
But no, I was vermin to them…evil… a disease. Witchcraft was outlawed after all. I was pushed down the dank prison hallways. I hadn't seen these halls since I was first captured, almost a year ago now. I looked back, almost longing for my cell again. I knew where I was going, and I was scared. Who wouldn't be?

"Keep walking!" My head was shoved back towards the hall, the force cracking my neck. I winced and kept going as I was told.
We reached the outside. The light blinded me and I faltered, gaining another smack from a guard. As my eyes adjusted, I saw it; the pyre. My death. There was no use in pleading, I knew that, but I still wanted to. It took all my strength not to.
I was forced forward, and tied to a large wooden pole. I held my head high, I would not apologize or feel regret for what I was.
There was a man off to the side, his piercing eyes staring straight at me, almost through me. I knew who he was. He was like the pyre; he would spell out my death. The bishop strode up to me with an arrogant stride, the corner of his mouth lifted in a sneer. His white robes were bright and pressed, as if today was the most important day in his life.

"This is your last chance," He smirked, as if anticipating me falling to my knees and begging forgiveness. "Repent and be saved."

"No." I said strongly and firmly, glaring at the old white haired man. That was all he was to me; an old man. He represented no God of mine. "I have done nothing wrong." The bishop shook his head in sadness as if he really cared whether I repented or not.

"Then you will burn." He picked up a lit torch, touching it to the kindling at my feet.
The flames consumed the kindling and licked at the bigger logs. I tore my gaze from the fire and looked out over the crowd gathered. What morbid curiosity could draw this many people from their homes to watch a living being burned alive? And they called me the monster. My eyes traveled from the families gathered, out to the horizon. I looked at the lake, large and sparkling in the noon sun. Hot tears spilled from my eyelids as I determinedly kept silent. No one would have the satisfaction of hearing my screams. No one.  
I closed my eyes, and pretended the hungry flames I felt at my feet were the warm waves of the summer heated lake. With that fantasy in my head, I took a breath and dove beneath the water, feeling the warmth caress my head, and swam down until I could breathe no more.