Another great chapter Old Slave... I like both the style of your writing and the concept of the story!!!
T
T
despite my initial reservations that my style might be more scientific and clinical than artistic and emotional.
...she's definitely new to thiswhat did he call it, a Tittyloss
“No, they clamp your wrists and feet into brackets, and electrodes simulate the pain as if they used nails. They even use strain-gauges so as you move the pain changes. Mind you, after 6hours I wished I was dead, it hurt that fucking much.
I think it likely that if your wrists were nailed, your hands would quickly go numb.
But not having any feeling in them wouldn't be much compensation
for the agony in all the rest of your body.
Both, I guess. But Connie's the authority of course.
4.
I stare at the cross. I can’t take my eyes off the girl. Why is she writhing about so much? Is she nailed, like in old crucifixions? Why have I been brought here, to watch this? to frighten me? I bet she’s suffering pain and humiliation.
Oh, fucking hell! I’ve been sentenced to pain and humiliation. Am I next? Crucified? He said 48hours. I thought crucifixion killed you, it killed Jesus. They don’t execute you for murdering fish, do they? I drop to the floor, one knee at a time, I wish I could use my hands, tears streaming down my face, snot running from my nose, sticking in my hair which is all over my face by now.
“It hurts like fuck, but you don’t die”.
I look around, realise the next cell has a naked girl in it as well, hands chained behind her back, a chain running to the wall from her collar, she’s sitting with her back to the end wall. Legs splayed out in a V in front of her.
“I’m Daphne, how long you got?”
“Judith, 48hours”
“Bloody hell, did you murder someone?”
“A pond full of fucking fish”
“The cunts, I got 12. Criminally Intercepting a Drone Mail Delivery. I ate most of the best groceries and drunk all the booze before I got caught though.”
“How do you know it hurts like fuck?”
“Did 6 up there last year for drunk and disorderly”
“So it doesn’t kill you? Don’t the nails kill you? Jesus died.”
“No, they clamp your wrists and feet into brackets, and electrodes simulate the pain as if they used nails. They even use strain-gauges so as you move the pain changes. Mind you, after 6hours I wished I was dead, it hurt that fucking much. Don’t know how I’ll stand 12.”
“I’ve got 48”
“Yes”
We didn’t say any more. That cross was the only thing that mattered. We’d said everything there was to say about that. The rest of the world was irrelevant.
“Oh look, there’s a new one in”. Two lads and two girls came over to the bars. “Judith Ann Roberts, of Compton-in-the-Vale” the tall lad read “Destroyer of Property”. So that’s what it says on this tablet, this, what did he call it, a Tittyloss?
“48hours, estimated start time 20.00hrs tomorrow”
“We’ll come this way after the pub” said the short-haired blond girl, “I’ll bring a cucumber to stick up her cunt.”
(tbc)
Something to think about maybe for your story.
My hair has stuck to the jam on my face.
Anything and everything they can do to a girl without permanently hurting her”
The cross rose up, the crowd dispersed. It’s dark now, floodlights on the cross, bright lights shine into our occupied cages. It’s cold, and rain patters on the tin roof. It must be horrible for that girl. Or does a bit of rain make much difference if it hurts that bad?
The jam stings my eyes as it runs down my face, and I think I’m seeing things when the cross seems to descend. It does, lowering straight down into the ground, so the girl could have stood up if her legs weren’t bent at the knees with her feet flat to the post. People crowd round her, and I hear much more laughter, shrieks, were they screams?
Is there anyone there to ensure that these hooligans don't actually do permanent damage?