Amidst the flickering flames, I see my youth. I remember the times I spent in the fields of my home, and when I lead our country to victory
gaining control of us.

         The warmth I feel below me is like the warmth of embracement into the
arms of my parents, Isabelle, and Jacques D'arc. We lived a peasant life
in the pastures of our beloved town, Domremy. Everywhere people were
friendly and saying "Bonjour!" whenever you were to pass by. I enjoyed
playing in the fields with my four brothers and sisters, but even more I
enjoyed my independence. My peasant lifestyle was comfortable, and I
enjoyed the peacefulness of my short, and soon to be forgotten life.

         Smoke appeared in the market place, which looks like figures of the saints that had visited me when I was thirteen.   My thoughts are scattered
with fear. What will happen next? I realized that the images I am
seeing are smoke, and not my prophesizing saints. This is reality, no saints to help; I am put here to die.

         The wood at my back, holding me in an upright position is familiar.  Many years of training were put into capturing this position for fighting purposes, but now I am it until I die.  I sat like this n my horse. I felt an attachment to the horse, because and all my weight was on him, and he led me to victory. Being in this position right now, all I feel is pain.   Images of everlasting glory flash before my eyes. I recall the triumphant sigh I took when I knew I would return home.

         With my hands above my head, I know it’s the end.  I remember this position from a time before. It was when Charles lifted my hands up in triumph of our accomplishment. I will never forget that moment and at the end of my life, I recall it as vividly as it was when it happened. At his castle, I was standing next to King Charles, and he lifted my hand. Just being able to hold his and stand before France filled me with joy and pride for our country.

         People are now looking at me and laughing. I am the main attraction in
the market place. I feel like I am on trial again. I've been on trial
many times before, and I know that it isn't a pleasurable experience. My
last trial has led me here. I am at the stake because people think that I
am a witch, but I am not. I know that someday the church will realize
that I am a good and pure Christian, and not a witch. I am furious that
I am being put to death for something that I didn't do. At this time, I
am going crazy. I think that maybe my tears will put out the fire.

         I now feel the wood at my back, and the burning sensation of the fire
below me. This is real, it isn't a dream, and death is now real
in the Rouen Market place.   In a flash I see my life before my eyes, but the smell of burning flesh puts out the thoughts.