I write this only a short while before I am hung. I am John Proctor, the father you will never know. I regret that I shall not live long enough to see thy birth, but I cannot damn myself to lies to do so. As I am sure you know, I am a convicted witch. It is a lie; I am a Christian man. By all means I am not good, but I have enough good in me to hang today.
             I am one of 19 to hang this year. Many more were accused, but they admitted it and threw the blame on others as much as they could and were therefore only thrown in jail. At first, I planned to do the same. I felt I could not hang besides such good people as Rebecca Nurse and Martha Corey. I have black sins and I felt I was not worth the dust on their shoes. I confessed that I was a witch but the officials of the court first demanded I say that I saw several people with the Devil. It is one thing to lie and therefore be sinned but another to condemn to women so close to God with that lie. Despite my refusal to implicate others, I was nearly released when they brought out a paper to sign. It was my written confession. I signed the paper slowly, but as I finished writing my name, I took the paper and tore it in two. I may lie, for God forgives my lies, but I cannot give the court my name. It is my own name and to sign it to lies would be giving it away. It is why I must hang: to save my friends, my family, myself.
             Others have managed to do so in other ways. An unknown person in the village said that the trials were false and that witches never came to Salem. A good man, my friend Giles Corey, died because he stood silent when questioned about the identity of the unknown person. They press him, which is a Christian death. In this way, he saved his friends and he leaves his children the farm.
             Son or daughter, my last request is this: Never give anyone the power of your name. Keep true to they friends, family, and thyself so that you s
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