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Mine Misery

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I have noted from your comments on quite a number of stories that having everyone die seems very important.Think how much we would have lost if Ian Fleming, JK Rowling and the folks at DC Comics had killed off James Bond, Harry Potter and Superman in their first stories.

Windar,

It depends on what you mean by everyone as well as other circumstances like plot, what we feel about the executioners and so on. Personally I choose to believe that in so many of the stories here the female characters make ideal subjects for things like crucifixion and hanging. So it is that when such characters somehow end up surviving the story just doesn't seem complete. To me these women and girls don't really fall into the same category as 007, Harry Potter and Superman. The former group as I see it consists of female folks that just seem destined for the cross, the noose or some similar(and equally unfun)fate. On the other hand you need your group of heros to survive to build a series around each of them. Not so with these damsels in distress, who keep coming back for more no matter how many times you do away with them. You know, though, I wonder sometimes, - am I just part of a bloodthirsty mob here? I know that the thought of mob rule in any situation is not something I consider to be a positive development in any story; I greatly prefer orderly and at least fairly quiet executions, maybe to the point of being carried out in private. At the same time I understand that not everyone here feels as I do; in fact, with so many people here I would indeed wonder greatly were things such that everyone at CF actually agrees with me all the time. At that point I'd probably have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. In any case it's all in fun, am I right?
 
I have noted from your comments on quite a number of stories that having everyone die seems very important.Think how much we would have lost if Ian Fleming, JK Rowling and the folks at DC Comics had killed off James Bond, Harry Potter and Superman in their first stories.

Windar,

It depends on what you mean by everyone as well as other circumstances like plot, what we feel about the executioners and so on. Personally I choose to believe that in so many of the stories here the female characters make ideal subjects for things like crucifixion and hanging. So it is that when such characters somehow end up surviving the story just doesn't seem complete. To me these women and girls don't really fall into the same category as 007, Harry Potter and Superman. The former group as I see it consists of female folks that just seem destined for the cross, the noose or some similar(and equally unfun)fate. On the other hand you need your group of heros to survive to build a series around each of them. Not so with these damsels in distress, who keep coming back for more no matter how many times you do away with them. You know, though, I wonder sometimes, - am I just part of a bloodthirsty mob here? I know that the thought of mob rule in any situation is not something I consider to be a positive development in any story; I greatly prefer orderly and at least fairly quiet executions, maybe to the point of being carried out in private. At the same time I understand that not everyone here feels as I do; in fact, with so many people here I would indeed wonder greatly were things such that everyone at CF actually agrees with me all the time. At that point I'd probably have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. In any case it's all in fun, am I right?

Of course this story, Mine Misery, is the sequel to Plantation Plight. If we'd have killed the characters off in that one, this one wouldn't exist and if Barb had died in "The Bronx Crux Murders", the sequels would just have Stan Goldman in them and who would want to read that? I never know which stories I might want to develop into a series so I'm reluctant to kill main characters off.

Besides which, I just don't find death that interesting-after all it happens to everyone. But a last minute escape-that is often challenging and fun to write and I think to read as well.

But let me ask, beyond the ending how did you like the story?
 
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Mine Misery is the sequel to Plantation Plight. If we'd have killed characters off in that one this wouldn't exist and if Barb died in "The Bronx Crux Murders", the sequels would just have Stan Goldman and who would want to read that? I never know which stories I might develop into a series so I'm reluctant to kill main characters off. I don't find death that interesting - it happens to everyone. A last minute escape is often challenging and fun to write and I think to read.

This is Crux Forums, where the overriding theme is blood, gore, violence, brute force, exploitation of the weak by the strong, suffering, misery and death(and probably another element or two that I didn't mention). It is what it is. And so it is, then, that I choose to revel(quietly, and in my own way)in the carnage inflicted upon the central and supporting female characters that repeatedly land in harm's way. Not everything here is to my taste, mind you. For example, I could do just fine without things like cannibalism and rape; to me, things like that are gratuitous and only create more reading for me the like of which I would just as soon eschew. Like I said previously, killing off any character around here doesn't necessarily prevent their miraculous resurrection and earthly return to whatever status the writer may choose to assign to them.

Surely none of us(well, I hope)would feel the same way if, say, we and our families were threatened by a horde of invading Assyrians, Romans, Huns, Mongols, Cossacks, Germans or anyone else.This place allows us to indulge our fantasies, which, clearly, can vary quite a bit from person to person. I'm just having fun here in my own way while endeavoring mightily to abide by the forum rules to which we must all adhere.

I've seen enough stories over the years involving things like last minute escapes, so as far as the fun in that may go, well, I'll just say not so much. I find it rather refreshing that some form of justice, however evil, perverted, etc., does so often catch up to our female victims. As long is it all remains no more than fantasy I am in story Nirvana and I hardly think I'm alone in that respect.
 
This is Crux Forums, where the overriding theme is blood, gore, violence, brute force, exploitation of the weak by the strong, suffering, misery and death(and probably another element or two that I didn't mention). It is what it is. And so it is, then, that I choose to revel(quietly, and in my own way)in the carnage inflicted upon the central and supporting female characters that repeatedly land in harm's way.
God, those words sound SO good! (in fantasy only)

Surely none of us(well, I hope)would feel the same way if, say, we and our families were threatened by a horde of invading Assyrians, Romans, Huns, Mongols, Cossacks, Germans or anyone else.This place allows us to indulge our fantasies, which, clearly, can vary quite a bit from person to person. I'm just having fun here in my own way while endeavoring mightily to abide by the forum rules to which we must all adhere.

I'd have no trouble with my fellow Romans, but agree with you about those other barbarians!
 
Besides which, I just don't find death that interesting-after all it happens to everyone. But a last minute escape-that is often challenging and fun to write and I think to read as well.
Does it have to be either/or, though? Sometimes, the question is who will survive. Of course, i suppose killing off Amy also falls into this...
 
Chapter 11 The Pit (Amy)

Sarah and I found it galling to be working under the eye of our former slave, Barb and Pat. We got no favors and were assigned the worst jobs often enough so that I knew they were tipping the scales against us, subtly getting back at us for the torment and terror we inflicted on them back at the plantation.

But the real trouble came on a day when we were assigned to the task of bringing the timbers used to support the roofs of the passageways to the tunnel heads, one of the more back-breaking jobs. Sarah and I were struggling to carry a large, heavy beam in our arms, sweating and straining under the load, me in front and Sarah behind.

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Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, there was Pat, right in front of us. I tried to stop, but the end of the beam hit her square in the chest, knocking her down. I dropped my end of the beam, and knelt to help her up, apologizing profusely. She seemed dazed. It must have been quite a blow.

Then, there was Barb, standing over me in her enforcer clothes ... leather boots, khaki pants and shirt, open all the way down the front.

"What is going on here?" she yelled.

"I'm sorry, she got in the way. We didn't see her," I said defensively as I glanced over my shoulder to see what had happened to Sarah. She was standing a few feet back, still holding her end of the beam, the sweat on her heaving bare chest glistening in the flickering tunnel torch light as she regarded Barb with a look of pure hatred in her eyes.

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"Not good enough!" said Barb. "We can't tolerate inattentive clumsiness here. These tunnels are narrow. Why weren't you watching where you were going?'

"Sorry," I repeated, but before I could say anything more Barb brought her whip down at full force on the top of my breasts, causing me to yelp in anguish. The first lash was followed by a second to my poor tits, this one striking right across the nipples, drawing a small bead of blood.

She then turned to Sarah and delivered a similar blow across her breasts."Very convenient accident," she muttered. Pat, who had, by now raised herself off the floor and seemed perfectly OK.

"Look you two," said Barb. "Pat and I ought to work you both to death for all you did to us, but in fact we have done no more than make you slave a bit harder than the rest. We should have known better. It's obvious nothing has changed, and perhaps it's time we see that you get a taste of what you once meted out to us without even a second thought."

“You wait here,” Barb said, as she strode off, presumably to find George. We stood side by side, panting from exertion and the fear of what would follow with Pat who was now on her feet and brandishing a whip, glaring intently at us and rubbing her chest where the beam had struck her.

A couple of minutes later, I saw George approaching, with Barb right behind him. “What the fuck is going on here?” he demanded.

“I didn’t see her, I swear,” I told him. “She came out of nowhere.”

“No, I was standing there and told them to stop, but they just barreled into me and knocked me down.” rejoined Pat.

I knew this was a blatant lie, but who was George going to believe ... his two favorite enforcers, or me and Sarah, against whom our former foreman had a grudge dating back to the plantation? Obviously, Sarah and I were in trouble.

That question was answered definitively when George spoke. “I’ve heard enough. It doesn’t matter whether it was deliberate or just clumsy, I can’t have my enforcers hit and knocked to the ground. You two are going to spend some time in the pit, where you can think about how you are going to behave in the future on my crew. Follow me. A day or two in the 'pit' should teach you a lesson or two, the kind I always thought would have done you some good back on the plantation!”

George led the way through the tunnel, Sarah and me following, with Barb and Pat behind us to make sure we kept moving. He led us into a small antechamber near the sleeping and eating quarters. There, set into the floor, was a round grating covering a hole in the rock floor. “Go get the ladder,” he ordered. Barb and Pat disappeared and soon returned.

View attachment 442558


George hoisted the grating up and had Barb and Pat lower the ladder down the shaft until one end rested on the bottom. “In you go,” George said impassively. Sarah stood at the edge of the hole, tentatively reaching out with her right foot until it found the first rung of the ladder. She slowly began lowering herself down the shaft, shackles rattling as she descended.

Once Sarah’s head had disappeared down the shaft, George turned to me. “What are you waiting for, a personal invitation?” Seeing little option, I followed Sarah down the ladder. As I neared the bottom, I could see that the shaft widened into a small, roughly circular chamber, with a ceiling so low that one could only lie or crouch, but not stand.

It was difficult to fit myself into that space, especially as it was already occupied by Sarah, but, with some difficulty, we managed to arrange ourselves. As we were doing so, the ladder disappeared and the grating slammed shut.

I was plunged into the depths of despair by this turn of events. The pit was dark, with only a tiny bit of light making its way down the shaft. It was hot and it stank from the bodily wastes left by previous occupants. And it was almost impossible to find a comfortable position in such a small space. Even worse was the occupants with whom we shared our living quarters. Rats!

Time passed agonizingly slowly. Every so often, the grating would open and someone ... we couldn’t see who ... would lower a bucket of water or some stale bread on a rope. Occasionally we could hear other slaves passing through the tunnel above on their way to or from work, or recoil in horror as a rat scurried across our legs or worse!

By the time they finally came to let us out we had nearly gone mad. I followed Sarah up the ladder after it had been lowered, but cramped muscles and exertion caused me to slide back and a moment later Sarah fell on top of me. George was forced to send an enforcer down to lift each of us up to waiting hands. They dragged us out and left us sprawled on the ground.

"Get some slaves to haul some water buckets over here," barked George to an overseer. "Clean these two fancy ladies up. They'll need to get their sorry asses back on shift by tomorrow. Time is money!"

"Barb and Pat will be sorry for this one day," hissed Sarah beneath her breath as the first buckets full of ice cold water sloshed over our naked bodies.
I wonder where can you get the pictures for the pit? Can you tell me?
 
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