I snapped ...don’t give a rat’s ass what your fucking cheerleader coach said! You can just shut up, you stupid cow. It isn’t High School games anymore. Don’t be a fucking airhead!” Amanda’s face looked like she’d been hit with a baseball bat!
I snapped ...don’t give a rat’s ass what your fucking cheerleader coach said! You can just shut up, you stupid cow. It isn’t High School games anymore. Don’t be a fucking airhead!” Amanda’s face looked like she’d been hit with a baseball bat!
Not your finest hour, but under the circumstances----I snapped ...
Good job Frost was driving on the same side of the road as he does in the UK!A reprive? Maybe, maybe not. A heart-warming reunion in the Prep room.
Seratus Enam Puluh Dua – 41 Minutes
Execution Preparation Room, Changi Prison, Friday, 11:19 AM
Behind the stage wall of the Execution Chamber in Changi Prison is the Preparation Room. It serves as a kind of Green Room for the actors who would participate in the upcoming drama.
In one corner was a bar operated by a trustee dressed in a sheer string-bikini. In another, three metal gurneys were ominously parked in a row. Placed around the spacious room were several lounge chairs and cocktail stands. In the center stood three metal poles with high-mounted chains for restraining the prisoners.
Ravi Govindasamy entered the room and found Oskar Clemens as the only other occupant (other than the fetching trustee behind the bar), sipping his favorite Dortmunder Pilsener while leering at the bargirl. Ravi ordered sparkling water from the girl and joined Oskar. The two had worked together for over four years and were fast friends. They shared an engineering background and pride of ownership in the punishment equipment. The engineers discussed the condition of the stands and the technicalities of operating the three machines simultaneously.
Soon, they were joined by Dr. Liú and two medical orderlies. Chunhua nodded in acknowledgment and then went off to sip a glass of Riesling with her staff in the corner with the gurneys. The technical talk of execution was a major turn-off for her.
Presidential Office, Istana, Singapore. Friday, 11:24 AM
There was a collective gasp from the visitors as they heard their hopes being dashed. Several began to speak up and object. But Rose silenced them with a gesture of her hand.
“However, I hope we can find a way to see some small justice here without me defying my Cabinet. Your Ladyship, Colonel, can we speak privately for a moment.”
These three, each a significant power-broker in their own right, in turn, adjourned together behind the screen. Soft yet urgent voices could be heard. After a few minutes, they emerged. Rose looked pleased, and the other two looked serious but resigned.
“We have a method to help, but time is now of the essence,” announced the President. “Rayyan, let me tell you what I want written.” She took her Secretary to a side desk where she whispered instructions.
“Thank God,” said Musa. “What is the deal?”
“You’ll know soon enough, Lad. It’s far from what we wished, but the most we can get,” said the Colonel. “Top priority is to get the word to Changi before the execution is completed.”
“Can’t you just give them a ring?” asked Frost.
“Unfortunately not. A couple of months ago, someone hacked into the secure lines from the Istana to Changi and faked an order for the release of a drug kingpin. After that, a new protocol was instituted. Any order from a court or the President for a change of a sentence must be in writing. The order must be signed and co-signed and hand-delivered to the Commandant.”
“My God,” cried Frost. “You mean we have to drive the order to the prison?”
“I’m afraid so, detective. That’s why Rose went straight to drafting the order. Musa, you and Frost be prepared, the moment it’s ready, to take it to the prison.”
Execution Preparation Room, Changi Prison, Friday, 11:29 AM
Imran entered the Prep Room followed by guards bringing Barbara and Amanda, naked, hooded and shackled. He directed all irons removed and simple handcuffs affixed in front. They were then backed up to two of the posts, and their hands secured over their heads, stretching them up on tip-toe.
Imran joined Oskar and Ravi and ordered an Indian Pale Ale from the trustee. Soon, Lim came in with guards half-dragging the beaten and exhausted Josephine. He had her secured in the same way as the others and strictly admonished the three prisoners not to speak a word. The guards prodded them with batons to reinforce the order. Then Hua-Upp joined the group. They drank and chatted and mostly made jokes and comments comparing the figures of the three naked women. Barbara was generally acknowledged to have the best body though Oskar opted for Amanda’s girlish looks. All four agreed that Josephine’s toned and shapely body would be the best on which to inflict pain. Imran and Lim regaled the others with descriptions of what they had done to Jo earlier.
At 11:34 AM, Commnmadant Bin Osman entered the room. He glanced around to take in the preparations and the people present. Mamat frowned at seeing Chunhua off with her orderlies in the corner. He caught her attention and gestured that she should join the group. When they were all together, he made a little speech.
“This is a red-letter day in the history of Changi Prison, gentlemen, and lady. A triple execution with a notorious criminal and a high-profile politician. I am confident that you will carry it off without a hitch. I shall shortly go to the stage. Please bring the prisoners out at precisely 11:45.” All nodded their understanding.
Mamat walked over to the prisoners. He gestured to the men assigned to them to remove the hoods. The girls blinked at the light while gulping the fresh air. After a moment, Barbara looked to her left (she was in the middle) and recognized Josephine. “YOU!” she said in disbelief.
“Yes, Miss Moore,” volunteered the Commandant. Miss Shanmugam has been recently convicted of betraying her office to frame you and Miss Jones and sentenced to die with you. You are all now in the same boat.”
Josephine said nothing as she was still in shock for the brutal welcoming to Changi.
Amanda recognized the former Minister but understood little of what had gone on. Nevertheless, she expressed her sincere sympathy. “Oh. I’m so sorry, Miss Shanmugam. This must be a horrible development for you. But be brave and follow Miss Moore’s example. She will be our rock!”
Barb looked at the woman who had arranged her fate and said, “I hope you rot in hell today, you fucking bitch!”
Amanda, shocked at her hero’s words, said, “Surely you don’t mean that, Miss Moore. We are all in this together. We must forgive and hang together, as Benjamin Franklin said. My cheerleading coach often told us…”
Barbara had all she could take of Jones’s pep talks. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what your fucking cheerleader coach said! You can just shut up, you stupid cow. It isn’t High School games anymore. Don’t be a fucking airhead!” Amanda’s face looked like she’d been hit with a baseball bat!
Bin Osman laughed. “I’m glad you three are such friends now. Once you are on your poles, you won’t have any time for thoughts of each other. You will only think of the tearing pain in your insides.”
Barb faced him defiantly while Amanda looked away, lowered her eyes, and sobbed.
Presidential Office, Istana, Singapore. Friday, 11:35 AM
“Done!” said Rayyan as he and Rose finished signing the order. He quickly folded it, sealed it in an envelope addressed to ‘Commandant, Changi Prison,’ and handed it to Musa.
“Go, boy!” said Wei An Kow,
“fly, like ships before the windMoving faster than he had in years, Frost ran with Musa out of the palace toward their car. Even as he puffed with the exertion, he could not help but wonder at the Colonel’s fluency of the Bard.
Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves!”
Frost was a Ford Cortina man, so not a lot of oomph there!Actually, as you may recall, Frost has never driven in Singapore. The delivery will depend on Musa's Formula 1 learned skills!
View attachment 924274
Trust the irrepressible Barbara Moore to interject herself into the story without the author's permission!Execution Chamber, Changi Prison, Friday 11:43 AM
The dreaded moment has arrived ... the final gruesome and fateful ordeal of my soon to be extinguished life is about to begin.
My handlers have removed my hood. I find myself blinded at first by the abrupt transition from the imposed darkness of the hood to the startling brightness of Changi’s execution chamber’s banks of stage lighting.
But as I blink and shake my head, my vision clears. Before me, at center stage, stand the three glinting metallic poles on which the three of us are to be impaled. Beyond them rise the viewing area’s tiered rows of plush seats, filled to capacity with well-dressed invited and paying guests. Scantily dressed girls flit amongst them, serving drinks and refreshments, while in the rear a camera crew performs a final check on the readiness of their video equipment.
To my left stands Amanda, looking scared out of her feeble little mind. Her lips are moving, undoubtedly silently reciting some silly cheerleader nonsense. Sadly pathetic.
To my right is Josephine Shanmugam, who in stark contrast to Amanda, shows no emotion whatsoever ... stoically, she just stares straight ahead. What a bitch!
With our hoods now removed, the audience has lapsed into a deathly anticipatory silence, the last words of animated conversation having melted imperceptibly away as attention becomes riveted to the scene on the stage. I sense the searing intensity of that collective gaze which seems to relish so eagerly our bound and naked vulnerability.
An air-conditioned downdraft spews from an overhead vent to dry the sheen of sweat my just removed heavy dark hood has left behind on my forehead and scalp. I shiver involuntarily, not only from the cooling effects of the downdraft but from the creepy, nauseating feeling of unease that invades my very being as I return the cold silent gaze of the assembled.
And then ... nervously and tentatively at first ... their long silence dissolves into a smattering of applause ... first here, then there ... a smattering that rapidly spreads, swelling and spreading further and further, until it morphs into one thunderously loud chorus.
And, as if on cue, one of my handlers takes me firmly by the arm, while the second prods me at the small of my back with the business end of his baton, nudging me forward to be formally presented for execution, along with Amanda and Josephine, at the very front of the stage.
And I have been quietly preparing for the moment. It had been a shock backstage ... to learn that Josephine had somehow bungled her nefarious role in all of this and managed to get herself condemned to die along with Amanda and me. How ironic!
And Its exactly that very irony that I fully intend to use to full advantage, for I have composed a tight little speech, which I rehearse in my mind one last time as I am propelled, in lockstep with Amanda and Josephine, to the front of the stage ... in the hope that I can deliver it to the audience and cameras before anyone can stop me:
“Hear me out! This is a fucking travesty! I am an innocent victim who does not deserve to die on this stage! How can you people ... just sit there .. sit there with drinks in hand and watch these monsters execute me ... me and Amanda ... sweet, innocent Amanda Jones? How can you countenance that ... when here ... right before your very eyes ... Josephine Shanmugam stands condemned to die for the crime of framing both me and Amanda? Surely you can see the irony in that, the injustice? How can this happen? I beg you to ask yourselves. What kind of hell hole country is this?”
And rest assured, I am determined ... fearlessly, desperately determined ...to make my plea despite the vicious baton blows that will most certainly rain down on me from my enraged handlers!
Give her a bit of latitude, you`ve subjected her to a load of abuse and the best part of a hundred strokes of the cane!Trust the irrepressible Barbara Moore to interject herself into the story without the author's permission!
Great, Barb, really captured the spirit there.Execution Chamber, Changi Prison, Friday 11:43 AM
The dreaded moment has arrived ... the final gruesome and fateful ordeal of my soon to be extinguished life is about to begin.
My handlers have removed my hood. I find myself blinded at first by the abrupt transition from the imposed darkness of the hood to the startling brightness of Changi’s execution chamber’s banks of stage lighting.
But as I blink and shake my head, my vision clears. Before me, at center stage, stand the three glinting metallic poles on which the three of us are to be impaled. Beyond them rise the viewing area’s tiered rows of plush seats, filled to capacity with well-dressed invited and paying guests. Scantily dressed girls flit amongst them, serving drinks and refreshments, while in the rear a camera crew performs a final check on the readiness of their video equipment.
To my left stands Amanda, looking scared out of her feeble little mind. Her lips are moving, undoubtedly silently reciting some silly cheerleader nonsense. Sadly pathetic.
To my right is Josephine Shanmugam, who in stark contrast to Amanda, shows no emotion whatsoever ... stoically, she just stares straight ahead. What a bitch!
With our hoods now removed, the audience has lapsed into a deathly anticipatory silence, the last words of animated conversation having melted imperceptibly away as attention becomes riveted to the scene on the stage. I sense the searing intensity of that collective gaze which seems to relish so eagerly our bound and naked vulnerability.
An air-conditioned downdraft spews from an overhead vent to dry the sheen of sweat my just removed heavy dark hood has left behind on my forehead and scalp. I shiver involuntarily, not only from the cooling effects of the downdraft but from the creepy, nauseating feeling of unease that invades my very being as I return the cold silent gaze of the assembled.
And then ... nervously and tentatively at first ... their long silence dissolves into a smattering of applause ... first here, then there ... a smattering that rapidly spreads, swelling and spreading further and further, until it morphs into one thunderously loud chorus.
And, as if on cue, one of my handlers takes me firmly by the arm, while the second prods me at the small of my back with the business end of his baton, nudging me forward to be formally presented for execution, along with Amanda and Josephine, at the very front of the stage.
And I have been quietly preparing for the moment. It had been a shock backstage ... to learn that Josephine had somehow bungled her nefarious role in all of this and managed to get herself condemned to die along with Amanda and me. How ironic!
And Its exactly that very irony that I fully intend to use to full advantage, for I have composed a tight little speech, which I rehearse in my mind one last time as I am propelled, in lockstep with Amanda and Josephine, to the front of the stage ... in the hope that I can deliver it to the audience and cameras before anyone can stop me:
“Hear me out! This is a fucking travesty! I am an innocent victim who does not deserve to die on this stage! How can you people ... just sit there .. sit there with drinks in hand and watch these monsters execute me ... me and Amanda ... sweet, innocent Amanda Jones? How can you countenance that ... when here ... right before your very eyes ... Josephine Shanmugam stands condemned to die for the crime of framing both me and Amanda? Surely you can see the irony in that, the injustice? How can this happen? I beg you to ask yourselves. What kind of hell hole country is this?”
And rest assured, I am determined ... fearlessly, desperately determined ...to make my plea despite the vicious baton blows that will most certainly rain down on me from my enraged handlers!
Touche!Authors Note: In response to an unauthorized post, allegedly recounting Barbara’s secret thoughts, the author feels compelled to add a final post for the day. These are the actual, documented observations of a reliable witness, Jeffrey Hodges, Esq.
Execution Chamber, Changi Prison, Friday 11:45 AM
Two guards on each prisoner then brought them forward to the front of the stage. It looked to Jeffrey as if Moore was going to give her statement. She opened her mouth. “Hear me—umpph.” Just as she started to speak, the guard behind shoved a ring-gag in her mouth, pulled the straps tight, and buckled it behind. The same was done to the other prisoners.
The Commandant announced. “You will observe that we have gagged the prisoners. This mild measure has been taken to save the audience from enduring any distasteful or foul language. It also allows our live broadcast to be rated PG-13 and ensure a much broader viewership. Ring-gags are used to allow free breathing and prolong their death. And, of course, for their screams to be heard.”
Jeffrey thought he had never seen Babara Moore look so angry.
The Commandant announced. “You will observe that we have gagged the prisoners. This mild measure has been taken to save the audience from enduring any distasteful or foul language. It also allows our live broadcast to be rated PG-13 and ensure a much broader viewership.