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Ku Krux Klan

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...I don't know how the bus burned, G-Man*, the highway patrol was in charge of investigating that...

-Deputy Billy Bob Roy

*a G-man is an FBI agent...

Don't you just love that pocket pen holder ... so retro ... cute little star too .... and that serious look.

Don_Knotts_Barney_and_the_bullet_Andy_Griffith_Show.jpg Then there was Barney the deputy. They only allowed him to handle one bullet for obvious reasons.
 
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"What do you mean there are seven 'free riders' missing. If they didn't pay the bus fare we'll find 'em and arrest them... What? They are 'freedom riders'? What the hell are 'freedom riders'?"

I smell a cover-up here. Crux Hill does not want anyone in the outside world to know what happened to the seven "freedom riders". :oops:

Last episode to be posted later today ... watch for it ;)
 
14. High noon. The work details have returned to Crux Hill Correctional Farm, but rather than proceeding directly to the mess hall the prisoners have been drawn up in neat ranks on the parade ground ... everyone facing the gallows, women on the left, men on the right.

View attachment 321031 They lead me out across the parade ground, passing between the ranks, positioning me out front of everyone at the very foot of the scaffold, Clem at my side, holding my arm in his iron grip, a fellow guide close by. I am naked, and in shackles.

Three hooded executioners wait above on the scaffold as my three "freedom rider" friends ... condemned to die for allegedly helping me escape from the "Farm" last night ... are led up the steps on the right side. They are naked, wrists bound tightly behind their backs.

The executioners take charge of the condemned as they arrive, positioning each of them over one of the three hinged trapdoors in the scaffold decking, slipping nooses over their heads, and tightening the nooses near their left ears.

I have never witnessed a hanging. I watch the preparations with morbid fascination, but also with gut-wrenching guilt and a gnawing sense of regret. These our my "freedom rider" friends, girls who left their quiet and secure college campus life and joined in the cause of combating racial injustice with a commitment as deep as my own.

I feel guilt over how my own rebellious impetuousness has put them up on that scaffold to die for me. They are innocent. I regret the fact that I never got to know them well. Sure, we rode the bus, sang songs, protested together, but I never really talked with them.

I turn to Clem and say, "You know they had nothing whatsoever to do with my escape last night. Executing them as accomplices just isn't right. Isn't there anything I can do or say to save them?"

"No, nothing. Warden says they must hang, as an object lesson to all prisoners."

"Even sweet, innocent Thessela over on the left?"

"No exceptions, Moore"

"But what about me?" And what about my other three friends?"

"I wouldn't be so quick to assume you have any friends here Moore. But to answer your question, you and the other three will die tonight."

"Why not now?"

"Two reasons. First, there are only three nooses up there AND second, a special "after dark" execution awaits you and the other three. Now, shut up and watch!"

The time has come. The girls on the stage know it. The fidget nervously, shifting their feet and twisting around nervously to look up at the long ropes that lead from the nooses around their necks up to the heavy gallows beam overhead.

One of the executioners passes in front of them, offering each a drag on his lit cigarette. He gets no takers, shrugs and nonchalantly walks over to the lever that releases the trap doors under their feet.

The moment has come. Tears run down cheeks. The one on the right, who had spoken to me so harshly in the cellar, begins to blubber and beg for mercy. The one in the center, stares straight ahead, a tear running down her cheek. Thessela opens her mouth to bravely declare. "We have no choice, but we shall overco.......awrkkkkk."

The trap doors fall open with a snap and a bang and all three plummet through, but their drop is abruptly cut short by a lack of slack in the suspending ropes.

View attachment 321030 I watch in horror as they dance the slow dance of death, silhouetted high above me against a bright blue Mississippi midday sky.

Their movements are desperately frantic. They kick, twist and jerk about wildly. Sometimes they move their legs like they are running a race; at times they rest and hang limply, only to resume their desperate struggles once again.

They bump against one another. Their breasts and ass cheeks shake and quiver with each frantic move. For a while the one in the middle locks her legs around poor Thessela and tries to leverage herself up to relieve the pressure on her neck.

Gradually the girls weaken. Sweat sheens their nude panting bodies, their faces contort and redden. All movement finally ceases, as one by one they give up the struggle and three still bodies slowly twirl at the end of their ropes.

The smell of pee and excrement drifts slowly in the heated still air. I wretch, close my eyes tight, and hang my head.

The warden appears, struts across the scaffold, pokes at each corpse with his little riding crop. Satisfied he turns, comes to attention facing the silently cowed prisoners on the parade ground below, and bellows, "Dismissed."

The ranks dissolve, though few head for the mess hall.

"Come with me Moore," says Clem, tugging at my arm, "it's back to the cellar for you until dark."

TO BE CONTINUED
Sexy hot words.... it would be nice to be swinging with the innocent girls, but I am thinking it may be better to wait for a more, hmmmm.... interesting.... denouement...
 
15. Back in the cellar, and still in a mind-numbing state of shock after watching three of my "freedom rider" friends meet their untimely end swinging from the end of a gallows rope, I am shoved up against a wall by Clem, who swiftly cuffs and chains my wrists to an iron ring above my head. My remaining three friends are also there, similarly restrained.

View attachment 321608 The Warden comes in to check on us. He surveys all four and then plants himself in front of me, hands on hips, smug smile on his face, cigarette dangling from his mouth. Looking at me thoughtfully, he inserts the tip of his short riding crop between my thighs.

Slowly he brings it upward, sliding its supple tip through the gap between my labia and up and over the meaty flesh of my mound.

I shudder as he traces a thin line across my flattened belly and on up my chest to a point midway between my breasts, where he stops momentarily before detouring left and then right to teasingly circle and flick at each of my erect tumescent nipples. The tip of the crop then grazes my neck and finally comes to rest just under my chin, where he uses it to raise my head and force me to look into his eyes.

"Well Miss Moore. So we meet again. I understand you decided to take a little powder last night. Unfortunately it ended badly and here you are."

"You're an evil man, Warden! You set me up, didn't you? I hope you rot in Hell someday."

"Perhaps I will Miss Moore, but not before I have the pleasure of watching you and your friends suffer and die tonight ... because you see, Miss Moore, we have something very special in store for you."

With that, he abruptly withdraws the tip of his riding crop from where it has been making a deep impression in the soft skin under my chin, opens the cap on his hip flask, takes a good long swig, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and spits in my face.

I glare at him as he turns and leaves. Clem follows him. The light goes out and I am left in total darkness along with the other three girls. No one speaks. There is nothing to say. We are left to our own thoughts and fears.

Hours go by. My arms, legs and back ache from hanging by my wrists. From time to time I hear chains clinking and rustling as one of the others, somewhere in the darkness shifts position. Occasionally someone moans or coughs, or sobs softly to herself.

Then the lights snap on, boots descend the stairs, and the cellar fills with men wearing white sheets and hoods.

"Oooie, will you look at those jugs on that one," exclaims one of them in an excited high pitched drawl.

"Nathan!" I think, instantly recognizing his voice from my time in the town jail two days ago.

One man, who wears a sheet and hood adorned with some kind of strange insignia seems to be in charge. He curtly orders the Klansmen to take us down and get us into the "veehickles."

My wrists are uncuffed and I am manhandled up the stairs and out into the muggy night air.

View attachment 321595 Under the glare of the parade ground arc lights, eager hands hoist me into the back of a pick up truck, and throw me down on the hard metal bed, while another gags and spread-eagles me by securing my hands and feet to the sides of the box.

Then the klansmen whoop and shout excitedly as they mount the trucks, which roar off in column through the open gates of the Crux Hill Correctional Farm.

I lie on my back as the pickup bounces down a rough country road. Half a dozen white-hooded faces look down on me. I gasp at the sight of the sinister and menacing gleam in their eyes as they ogle me through the rough-cut openings in their hoods.

The sky is clear. Stars shine brightly overhead. As the truck roars on into the night, headed for some unknown destination, the Klansmen gather around me, pour copious quantities of liquor from their hip flasks over my nude body, pinch and tug at my my nipples, roughly paw and poke with hands and fingers at my pussy, and shout "Yankee whore" and "nigger lover" as they each take their turn.

TO BE CONTINUED


(thanks again to THT for supplying the manips)
Lucky you, that's all I can say!!!!
 
I smell a cover-up here. Crux Hill does not want anyone in the outside world to know what happened to the seven "freedom riders". :oops:

Last episode to be posted later today ... watch for it ;)
"...of course I want to help find these girls but you say they are 'freedom riders'? Does that mean they ran off to fuck niggers?!?!?!"
tree dad.jpg

Tree
 
16. Satiated and spent, the last of the white-hooded “good ole boys” rolls free of my nude, spread-eagled body to scrabble over to the side of the pickup truck, where he leans back, takes a long swig from a hip flask handed to him by one of his pals, and exclaims "whoeeee, what a fuck that one was!"

staked 010 b.jpg I lie on my back, bouncing and shaking, as the pickup rattles over a washboard stretch of road. I close my eyes and turn my head away from my tormentors, feeling terribly violated, humiliated and very sore. Puddles of spunk cover the decking beneath my ass; gobs of the stuff hang from my inner thighs and are smeared about on my belly.

Suddenly the road beneath the wheels turns smooth and street lights pass by overhead, one after another. I suspect they have taken me back to the town of Crux Hill, where this whole ordeal began just a couple days ago when I and my friends rode into town on that ill-fated "freedom rider" bus.

Our procession of pickup trucks roars down the main drag, horns honking, white-hooded men leaning over the sides, waving, hollering and whooping. I raise my head to see as best I can where we are headed, but really can’t tell.

At last we come to a stop. My ankles and wrists are released, and I am helped to a sitting position. We appear to be in the city park. Eager hands drag me over the open tailgate to the ground and force me to stand, while my hands are tied behind my back.

A large crowd has gathered, most of the menfolk are clad in white hoods and gowns. In the center of the park, on a low hill, three nooses dangle from a makeshift gallows. A surrounding ring of pickup trucks and a couple of police cruisers, their cherry top lights rotating, illuminate the scene from all sides with their headlights.

The other three girls appear alongside me, escorted by Klansmen from the pickup trucks in which they were riding. They look like they have been through hell already, limping awkwardly as they are shoved along; and judging from the shocked expressions on their faces, they appear … having seen the three waiting nooses … to be just now realizing that far worse is yet to come.

The crowd is revved up. The whole scene has a carnival like atmosphere. They clap their hands and yell things like "nigger lovers" and "Yankee sluts" at us as we are led forward into the lights. I am held off to one side as my three friends are forced to step up onto a long low bench. A noose is slid over each of their heads and pulled tight around their necks.

The girl on the left with the sandy brown hair is a little older … actually not a student like the rest of us, but a young faculty member. She is short and has to stand on her toes to keep the noose around her neck comfortably loose. She seems more curious, a little less scared and more interested in what is happening than the other two. As she glances back and forth, first at me then at her naked companions, I can see that she is erotically excited.

At the other end of the bench, a blonde girl from somewhere out east is berating everyone with one of the most spectacular strings of “truck driver” expletives I have ever heard. What a blue streak! She is normally so sweet … ok, well maybe she can be a bit snarky … but this is over the top and only seems to make the crowd wilder and more incensed.

In contrast, the third girl … the one in the middle … seems resigned and just stares straight ahead.

I am given little time to observe them, however, before the ropes binding my wrists are cut and I am thrown violently on my back atop a heavy wooden beam. Before I can react, my arms are stretched out along a cross beam and pinned down. Cords are wound around my hands and fingers and tied to the beam, while other Klansmen press the flats of my feet down against the heavy wooden beam beneath me, forcing my knees up.

White-hooded figures blur before my eyes as I turn my head frantically in an effort to take in everything at once. They produce nails and hammers. My God, they are going to nail me to a cross!!!

The sharp points of spikes are pressed against the tops of my feet and the undersides of my wrists. I scream and buck wildly as the spikes are driven through, the metallic ring of hammerheads striking nail heads ringing in my ears, unimaginable pain racing through my nervous system.

kkk 021.jpg The blonde girl looks down upon me as I raise my head, grimacing in pain as the nails are driven home and yells, "Damn you all; look what you have done to her! Why couldn’t you have just hang us all?"

A Klansmen with a bullhorn introduces one of his comrades to the crowd as the "Imperial Wizard." There are shrill whistles, huzzahs and enthusiastic applause as the Wizard takes the bullhorn and begins to speak.

“Mah fella citizens. I wanna thank ya all for coming out heah tonight to support your Klan. We all know why we are heah! It is to make a statement! We cannot have no white women copulating with niggers! Ain’t that right boys? What’s next; niggers on TV and running for office!”

I protest wearily from my cross that I have never been with a colored man, and that it’s in fact the Imperial Wizard’s own kind that have violated and degraded me.

But the wizard laughs and says, “Then we aim to make sure you never do! Now let’s save the other three from the same temptation!”

kkk 006 a.jpg On his signal, two Klansmen step forward. They kick the bench out from under the girls, who scream in terror, but their cries are cut short as they begin to move their legs as though they are running a race in midair. The nooses bite into their necks and their screams are transformed to anguished gurgles and gasps.

As I watch them flail helplessly about, the cross to which I am so cruelly nailed begins to shudder and move. I am being raised! Applause, laughter, jeers and taunts fill the muggy night air as the crowd celebrates.

My cross slides into a pre-prepared hole and hits bottom with a jolt and then totters and rocks. Drawn by gravity, I slide down along its rough service, bounce as it hits bottom, and swing out wildly, twisting right and left, and screaming at the top of my lungs.

The nails dig in to the sinews and flesh of my crudely pierced wrists, and pain courses like lightening through my outstretched arms. The broken and crushed bones and ligaments in my shattered feet grind against the immovable spikes and exposed raw nerve endings. Rivulets of warm blood run down my arms and between my toes.

kkk 20 a.jpg I know my friends are dancing that familiar dance of death at the ends of their ropes, but I am far too busy wildly writhing about in agony on my cross to pay them any attention. The glaring headlights dance and then swim before my eyes as I weaken. I do less screaming, which is useless, and more moaning. My head lolls from side to side; my chin comes to rest against my chest, my long brown hair covering my face, tendrils clinging to my sweat-sheened heaving breasts.

I feel the cross begin to shudder and tremble again. Opening my eyes to look down, I gasp in horror at the sight of Klansmen heaping wood and kindling around the base of the stipe. Some of them are waving torches in the air, the flickering flames reflecting off the white of their robes and hoods. I smell kerosene!

I cry, “You aren’t going to burn me!?!?”

The torches are thrown on the kerosene-soaked wood. OMG!!! They are setting my cross on fire! Searing hot flames jump up to envelope my feet and legs! My cross is burning! I am on fire!!!!!!!


FINIS

credit here to Tree for supplying manips and dialogue.
 
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EPILOGUE: Fifty-five years later, on the exact anniversary of this event, a resident of St. Louis comes forward to offer an eye-witness account of what happened on that fateful day in Crux Hill, Mississippi:

I was in Mississippi by chance visiting a cousin that night. I didn’t know he was in the Klan but went with him to what he called a rally. I was curious more than sympathetic to the Klan’s cause. We get to the field near dusk. I found it a bit foreboding with the field lit with torches, scattered bonfires, and car and pick-up trucks’ headlights that ring field. But what gave me ‘the creeps’ was the three nooses that dangle from a makeshift gallows lit up by spotlights from the pickup trucks and police cruisers parked there. I correctly assumed the police weren’t there to stop anything.

I asked my cousin if they were really going to hang three colored people. He said “No nigger getting strung up tonight but some nigger-lovin’ cunts are.”

I was just a bit over 18 then and really wasn’t sure what a ‘cunt’ was but I would soon find out. I lived in the southwest part of St. Louis where the only coloreds were city garbage men and the trash haulers for the Standard Oil gas station next door. St. Louis in 1961 was mostly a white city that in the 1800s could have gone with South just as easily as it stayed with the northern states. My parents would wash my mouth out with soap if I called a colored person a ‘nigger’.

I stood in a city park with hundreds of people wearing white Klan garb. There seemed to be as many women as there were men. Then they brought in four women and they were as naked as the day they were born! Damn I had only seen a couple of Playboy magazines in my life and here were four naked women with their hands tied behind their backs. None of them looked like they were any older than me! I am embarrassed to say I had a substantial bulge in my pants!

Three of the women were placed on a bench and rope nooses placed around their necks! The one with an eastern accent was screaming calling the Klansmen names I would never use. And then it happened.

The brunette’s hands were untied and large men in white robes slammed her down on a cross lying on the ground. I watched in disbelief as they nailed the screaming woman to the cross and raised her! With shaking hands I dug out a Winston cigarette and clicked the Zippo lighter. My cousin nudged me in the ribs and said “This is the best damn rally I have ever been to and the Imperial wizard ain’t talked yet.”

I looked at the stunned girl hanging on the cross while some guy in in a robe like the others was introduced as the Imperial Wizard. I gathered he was important as all listened to what he said through a bull horn.

Damn if they didn’t kick the bench away. I don’t know why but I checked my Timex watch and the last one didn’t stop twitching for more than twenty minutes! Then they start stacking wood around the base of the cross. The brunette woman nailed to the cross looked down and screamed what I was thinking… “You aren’t going to burn me?!?!”

I’ll be damned if they didn’t just go right ahead and do it! Her shrieks were horrible and my cousin said “Tree, this is the best damn rally I have been to!” (I was called ‘Tree’ because I was six foot tall and not quite 140 pounds, my real name is… well… never mind; I’m sure that night wasn’t too legal)

After a while the burning cross cracked, then fell to the ground with only her legs are in the fire until a bulldozer pushed the rest of the cross back into the flames. Later as we left the rally my cousin took a snapshot of one of the hanged women. He mailed me a print…

321700-3785f94bd2a53e1ce61ba6d4842989db.jpg I still have it…

Four colored men were later tried and hanged for raping and lynching the three women. There was never any word about the crucified woman… to this day I don't know her name.

Words and music (supply your own favorite early 1960's pop tune here) by THT. All rights reserved.
 
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whoa... I must admit this was a tough story to contribute to. In 1961 the real 'Tree' was five years old and the city "garbage men" and the "trash collectors" were the only blacks I came in contact with. My parents were first generation children born in America to Italian immigrants and they nor I understood really what the civil war was about.

The KKK would have never survived to this day unless after the South's loss had to be punished for 'benevolent' reasons but, damn, the slaves were freed but really could we Negros equal to whites??? Yes, as a kid there were segregated lunch counters and restroom (Though blacks were allowed to clean both, as long as the 'whites' was do first).

Bold thread Barb...

Tree
 
supply your own favorite early 1960's pop tune here
a quick check reveals just how dire 'popular' music was in 1961 -
all moon rivers, lazy rivers... of course the blues were very much alive, but kept well out of the charts,
likewise the beginnings of the protest songs - but Dylan, Joan Baez, the Beatles, the Stones, Elvis, Buddy Holly,
etc etc etc still below the horizon...
 
a quick check reveals just how dire 'popular' music was in 1961 -
all moon rivers, lazy rivers... of course the blues were very much alive, but kept well out of the charts,
likewise the beginnings of the protest songs - but Dylan, Joan Baez, the Beatles, the Stones, Elvis, Buddy Holly,
etc etc etc still below the horizon...

too bad....well take a few time liberties and go after some of the good ones that were soon to burst on the scene.
 
16. Satiated and spent, the last of the white-hooded “good ole boys” rolls free of my nude, spread-eagled body to scrabble over to the side of the pickup truck, where he leans back, takes a long swig from a hip flask handed to him by one of his pals, and exclaims "whoeeee, what a fuck that one was!"

View attachment 322368 I lie on my back, bouncing and shaking, as the pickup rattles over a washboard stretch of road. I close my eyes and turn my head away from my tormentors, feeling terribly violated, humiliated and very sore. Puddles of spunk cover the decking beneath my ass; gobs of the stuff hang from my inner thighs and are smeared about on my belly.

Suddenly the road beneath the wheels turns smooth and street lights pass by overhead, one after another. I suspect they have taken me back to the town of Crux Hill, where this whole ordeal began just a couple days ago when I and my friends rode into town on that ill-fated "freedom rider" bus.

Our procession of pickup trucks roars down the main drag, horns honking, white-hooded men leaning over the sides, waving, hollering and whooping. I raise my head to see as best I can where we are headed, but really can’t tell.

At last we come to a stop. My ankles and wrists are released, and I am helped to a sitting position. We appear to be in the city park. Eager hands drag me over the open tailgate to the ground and force me to stand, while my hands are tied behind my back.

A large crowd has gathered, most of the menfolk are clad in white hoods and gowns. In the center of the park, on a low hill, three nooses dangle from a makeshift gallows. A surrounding ring of pickup trucks and a couple of police cruisers, their cherry top lights rotating, illuminate the scene from all sides with their headlights.

The other three girls appear alongside me, escorted by Klansmen from the pickup trucks in which they were riding. They look like they have been through hell already, limping awkwardly as they are shoved along; and judging from the shocked expressions on their faces, they appear … having seen the three waiting nooses … to be just now realizing that far worse is yet to come.

The crowd is revved up. The whole scene has a carnival like atmosphere. They clap their hands and yell things like "nigger lovers" and "Yankee sluts" at us as we are led forward into the lights. I am held off to one side as my three friends are forced to step up onto a long low bench. A noose is slid over each of their heads and pulled tight around their necks.

The girl on the left with the sandy brown hair is a little older … actually not a student like the rest of us, but a young faculty member. She is short and has to stand on her toes to keep the noose around her neck comfortably loose. She seems more curious, a little less scared and more interested in what is happening than the other two. As she glances back and forth, first at me then at her naked companions, I can see that she is erotically excited.

At the other end of the bench, a blonde girl from somewhere out east is berating everyone with one of the most spectacular strings of “truck driver” expletives I have ever heard. What a blue streak! She is normally so sweet … ok, well maybe she can be a bit snarky … but this is over the top and only seems to make the crowd wilder and more incensed.

In contrast, the third girl … the one in the middle … seems resigned and just stares straight ahead.

I am given little time to observe them, however, before the ropes binding my wrists are cut and I am thrown violently on my back atop a heavy wooden beam. Before I can react, my arms are stretched out along a cross beam and pinned down. Cords are wound around my hands and fingers and tied to the beam, while other Klansmen press the flats of my feet down against the heavy wooden beam beneath me, forcing my knees up.

White-hooded figures blur before my eyes as I turn my head frantically in an effort to take in everything at once. They produce nails and hammers. My God, they are going to nail me to a cross!!!

The sharp points of spikes are pressed against the tops of my feet and the undersides of my wrists. I scream and buck wildly as the spikes are driven through, the metallic ring of hammerheads striking nail heads ringing in my ears, unimaginable pain racing through my nervous system.

View attachment 322369 The blonde girl looks down upon me as I raise my head, grimacing in pain as the nails are driven home and yells, "Damn you all; look what you have done to her! Why couldn’t you have just hang us all?"

A Klansmen with a bullhorn introduces one of his comrades to the crowd as the "Imperial Wizard." There are shrill whistles, huzzahs and enthusiastic applause as the Wizard takes the bullhorn and begins to speak.

“Mah fella citizens. I wanna thank ya all for coming out heah tonight to support your Klan. We all know why we are heah! It is to make a statement! We cannot have no white women copulating with niggers! Ain’t that right boys? What’s next; niggers on TV and running for office!”

I protest wearily from my cross that I have never been with a colored man, and that it’s in fact the Imperial Wizard’s own kind that have violated and degraded me.

But the wizard laughs and says, “Then we aim to make sure you never do! Now let’s save the other three from the same temptation!”

View attachment 322370 On his signal, two Klansmen step forward. They kick the bench out from under the girls, who scream in terror, but their cries are cut short as they begin to move their legs as though they are running a race in midair. The nooses bite into their necks and their screams are transformed to anguished gurgles and gasps.

As I watch them flail helplessly about, the cross to which I am so cruelly nailed begins to shudder and move. I am being raised! Applause, laughter, jeers and taunts fill the muggy night air as the crowd celebrates.

My cross slides into a pre-prepared hole and hits bottom with a jolt and then totters and rocks. Drawn by gravity, I slide down along its rough service, bounce as it hits bottom, and swing out wildly, twisting right and left, and screaming at the top of my lungs.

The nails dig in to the sinews and flesh of my crudely pierced wrists, and pain courses like lightening through my outstretched arms. The broken and crushed bones and ligaments in my shattered feet grind against the immovable spikes and exposed raw nerve endings. Rivulets of warm blood run down my arms and between my toes.

View attachment 322373 I know my friends are dancing that familiar dance of death at the ends of their ropes, but I am far too busy wildly writhing about in agony on my cross to pay them any attention. The glaring headlights dance and then swim before my eyes as I weaken. I do less screaming, which is useless, and more moaning. My head lolls from side to side; my chin comes to rest against my chest, my long brown hair covering my face, tendrils clinging to my sweat-sheened heaving breasts.

I feel the cross begin to shudder and tremble again. Opening my eyes to look down, I gasp in horror at the sight of Klansmen heaping wood and kindling around the base of the stipe. Some of them are waving torches in the air, the flickering flames reflecting off the white of their robes and hoods. I smell kerosene!

I cry, “You aren’t going to burn me!?!?”

The torches are thrown on the kerosene-soaked wood. OMG!!! They are setting my cross on fire! Searing hot flames jump up to envelope my feet and legs! My cross is burning! I am on fire!!!!!!!


FINIS

credit here to Tree for supplying manips and dialogue.

Barb has a relatively quick death for once -- horrifying and excruciating while it lasted -- but far quicker than usual. No endless hours of agony...

She seems to have gotten off easy! Apparently the KKK doesn't appreciate the sight of a gorgeous woman writhing on a cross.
 
Barb has a relatively quick death for once -- horrifying and excruciating while it lasted -- but far quicker than usual. No endless hours of agony...

She seems to have gotten off easy! Apparently the KKK doesn't appreciate the sight of a gorgeous woman writhing on a cross.
It may have more to do with shortening the show than any mercy... I would not count on such 'love' in 'Roxie and the lottery"...

T
 
Breathtaking, incredible, earth shattering stuff! Well done Barb, and well done Tree!

:clapping::clapping:
 
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