Horatio Palmer's 3rd Level 3 Assignment

[Horatio Palmer]

The Last Drop

I never knew why she had broken one of the capital rules. Didn’t she know what would happen if she were caught? It was probably just inexperience- the bravura of youth. Maybe she thought she’d get away with it. She was only twenty one.

I was sitting in my office playing Solitaire on the computer when Lydia walked in. She held in her hand, a file.
“I’ve got a job for you.”
“Ooh, someone’s been a naughty girl. Who was it, Sasha?”
“No, Lana Mills.”
“Lana Mills, Lana Mills… Isn’t she one of the new ones?”
“Uh huh.”
“What’s she done?”
“It’s serious.”
“How serious?”
“She ran away from her master and eloped with one of his friends. It‘s a capital offence.”
“Oh Christ! No! What age is she?”
“I’ll leave her dossier with you. Have a read of it.”
“When’s the date set?”
“Tomorrow. Her lashing is today.”
“What time?”
“Four.” I opened Lana’s dossier and staring at me was her profile. My eyes glanced at her date of birth and I did the sum in my head.
“Lydia, she’s only twenty one!”
“And?”
“It’s her first offence for fuck sake, you can’t hang a twenty one year old. It isn’t right.”
“She was perfectly aware of the rules. Am I to take it that you’re questioning orders from above? That’s a lashing offence.”
“Oh yeah, I’m going to flog myself now aren‘t I?”
“No. I’ll be the one doing it if you keep it up.”

I leaned back on my chair and perused Lana’s file. There were naked pictures of her from every angle. I suppose my file was the same. She was an amazing looking girl- perfect figure, porcelain skin and one thing that really caught my attention was her deep green eyes, draped over with a wisp of jet black hair. They had a hypnotic quality- like green pools you almost felt like drowning in. I read on.
One of the “commando’s” reports detailed the events of the arrest. Apparently the operation was smooth. The team had broken into the house where Lana and her paramour were holed up. They simply shot him in the head, drugged her and bundled her into a car. By the time anyone else knew what had happened, the Gulfstream was thirty seven thousand feet over the Atlantic on the way back to England. It was a textbook operation.
The reason Lydia had thrown the file on my desk was that I was the “punisher”. If one of our girls broke the rules, they’d be taken down to the “theatre” and I’d give them fifty lashes with the cat of nine tales. Depending on the girl, the theatre could be packed. I never liked the job, but someone had to do it. If I’m honest, the only reason I stayed was for the money. I had a little bit of a gambling problem a few years back and lost a lot of money. A woman approached me one day. Told me that if I came and worked for them, not only would they pay off my debt but pay me a pretty salary. In essence, they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
Checking the cheap clock on the wall, I noticed it was twenty to four. Time to get cracking so to speak.

The theatre was in one of the towers and so was a circular room. A ten foot wooden pole stood in the centre of the room and the floor was surrounded by tiered rows of seats. I stood down in the arena and looked up. Only Lydia was present in the “crowd”. God damn her, hadn’t she anything else to do? This young girl would have enough on her plate without being made a spectacle. Couldn’t Lydia afford her a touch of dignity?
For some reason, the rules demanded that I wear a mask over my eyes. That was kept in my locker where all the other equipment was stored. I took out everything I needed- ropes, collar, whip and mask. I didn’t have any special outfit for the job, just the standard club uniform; a crisp white shirt and a short black skirt- the same as all the other girls wore.
The black rubber mask was tiny- little bigger than a large pair of glasses. It felt tight and I didn’t know why. Had my head expanded? I checked everything and marched into the arena to wait. It wasn’t long before they brought the girl in. She was flanked by two wardens, not unattractive muscular girls that could take on the average man in a fight and win. The girls hands were cuffed in front of her, chained to her shackled ankles. I’d seen other girls cry at the thought of their flogging but this one, with her demise imminent, stood tall and impassive.
The wardens roughly unlocked her bindings and brutally tore her clothes off. It was time for me to get to work. Gingerly, I fastened the collar around her neck and led her to the pole where I chained one of the rings of the collar to a hoop, fastening her neck in place. I pressed her tightly against the pole, the shaft between her firm breasts, and tied her legs to the base with some rope. A hook jutted out on the other side of the post just above her head. A fastened the leather cuffs around her wrists and hung the chain from the hook, hoisting her hands above her. With my longest length of rope, I wrapped it around her waist and tied it tightly. I could see the rope digging into her pale, goose pimpled flesh- I suppose some things couldn’t be helped. Once I was sure she was secure, I began.
I really have to hand it to her. With each sharp blow I delivered she did not whimper once. Only the cuts and welts on her back belied her pain. I personally felt that a flogging would be enough for this girl. She knew the pain of disobedience and with one so young, she was unlikely to do it again. Still, I thought as I delivered the final crack, it wasn’t up to me.

After I had tidied the arena and put my gear away, I trudged deep into the bowels of the manor to the girl’s holding cell. Apart from her, the cells were empty. The two wardens stood outside and unlocked the door for me. Myself and the girl didn’t have any privacy as the wardens listened through the bars. Part of my job was to explain the execution procedure to the girl.
I sat on the chair opposite her and I explained in minute detail every aspect of the hanging. She listened, again impassive. After I had finished my explanation I leaned across and clasped her hands in mine. Gazing into her enchanting eyes I told her everything I wanted to say.
“You took your flogging well. You didn’t show them any pain. I’ve got to give you that.” She smiled weakly. “Look, you need to be strong tomorrow. You show them any weakness, they’ll love it.”
“Aren’t you one of them?” She had me there. I paused, trying to think of something to say but I couldn’t.
“Yes. But I didn’t want it to happen this way.” I noticed her eyes were looking at my neck.
“Isn’t that a Saint Christopher’s medal?” I looked down at the pendant around my neck.
“It is. Patron saint of travellers.”
“I was wondering if maybe you could let me have it. I’m don’t want to be alone on my journey.”
“Lana I’m sorry but it’s kind of a family heirloom. My mother would kill me if she knew I gave it away.” She looked disappointed. “Remember what I said, be strong, be brave. Whatever about the rest of them, I’m rooting for you.”

My husband never asked about what I did at work. In fact he grew tired of the stonewalling whenever he asked. I just told him that I worked for the government and I was bound by the Official Secrets Act and if I told him anything, I could go to prison. In reality, if I told him anything, I’d be hanged.
I lay awake on the pillow beside him while he sat up in bed reading Bukowski. As soon as his eyelids began to droop, he put the book down and noticed I was still awake. He kissed me on the lips and noticed my sullen demeanour.
“Anything wrong?” I faked a smile.
“No.”
“OK then, good night baby.” As he snored, I still lay awake thinking of the girl. I felt lousy for not giving her my medal. Maybe there was still time to make it up to her. My conscience had never felt this bad about an execution. The ones I had previously hanged had killed their masters. Maybe I didn’t think hanging them was right, but it was better them than Lana. Gradually, with a heavy conscience, I drifted off to sleep.

I waited patiently on the gallows for the wardens to bring the prisoner out. Again, the mask obscured a small part of my face. The clank of chains and the thump of feet on wood became audible and Lana appeared up the steps, bound like she had been the previous day and wearing the organisation’s uniform, just as I wore. They led her over to the trapdoor and unbound her. Then, they retired to the room beneath. Myself and Lana were completely alone.
Nothing in her face revealed the abject terror she must have been feeling. I respected her for that. That young girl standing tall atop the gallows could so easily have been me ten years ago. I shuddered at the thought. It was time for me to get to work.
“Have you anything to say before sentence is carried out?” She was silent. I tied up her hair pulled the black hood over her head. Lana would never see the light of day again. It was such a waste. I strapped her long, slender legs together at the ankles and cuffed her hands behind her back. With a short length of rope, I pulled her elbows together and bound them, hoisting her young breasts upwards. As a final dignified act, I wrapped wound some rope around her skirt so as it wouldn’t flap when she went through the trapdoor. Believe me, there were people down there looking up.
I dropped the noose dangling from the beam above, over the hood and tightened it around her beautiful neck. With that, Lana was ready. I went to the trapdoor lever. The drop would take place at my discretion. Looking at her, I thought of one last thing. Unclasping my St. Christopher’s medal from around my neck, I walked over to her and pressed it into her hand. She must have known what I was doing, as she grasped it in her palm and squeezed.
A lump formed in my throat as I tried to delay the drop for as long as I could. Eventually, I decided I must proceed. With a heave, I pulled the lever back. Lana fell and after travelling quite a distance the rope snagged and I heard a crack. It swayed and rocked from side to side. With every execution I had done, there had been a cheer from the crowd below, but now there was silence; just the creaking of wood as a tear fell from my mask. I marched quickly away from the gallows and back to my office
I sincerely hoped that I had done my best for her- that she hadn’t felt any pain. They’d be taking her down now for burial or cremation. I typed furiously on my keyboard and produced a short letter. Barging into Lydia’s office, I didn’t knock. I slapped the letter on her desk.
“What’s this?”
“Read it.” Lydia opened the envelope and scanned through the letter, stony faced.
“So you’re leaving us?”
“In two weeks.”
“What made you decide?”
“I couldn’t do it any more. Seeing that girl dangle at the end of that rope made me sick. I could see myself in her.”
“Of course, you never went down the slave route. By the way, don’t you owe us a debt?”
“As far as I’m concerned, today, I paid it.”
The next two weeks drifted slowly by. Some of the girls in the administration end bought me a cake. The whole thing was nothing out of the ordinary- just like leaving any office job.
As I pulled away from the manor in my car for the last time, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw Lydia leaning against one of the Doric columns looking out nonchalantly over the estate. I don’t know whether she knew it or not, but beside her stood Lana, smiling and waving. I smiled back.

[H Dean]

I will probably end up giving a complete bash of this parts. Sometimes my time and connection are as reliable as cliches adding to a story.

Anyhoooooooo...

The Last Drop

I never knew why she had broken one of the capital rules. Didn’t she know what would happen if she were caught? It was probably just inexperience- the bravura of youth. Maybe she thought she’d get away with it. She was only twenty one.

I'm not sure if the choppy sentences were on purpose or not, but I don't really care for them here. Also, how many times are you goinna use "she" in one paragraph?

I was sitting in my office playing Solitaire on the computer when Lydia walked in. She held in her hand, a file.

Okay, I get the importance that you were trying to bring to the file but the order of wording was not happy making.

“I’ve got a job for you.”
“Ooh, someone’s been a naughty girl. Who was it, Sasha?”
“No, Lana Mills.”
“Lana Mills, Lana Mills… Isn’t she one of the new ones?”
“Uh huh.”
“What’s she done?”
“It’s serious.”
“How serious?”
“She ran away from her master and eloped with one of his friends. It‘s a capital offence.”
“Oh Christ! No! What age is she?”
“I’ll leave her dossier with you. Have a read of it.”
“When’s the date set?”
“Tomorrow. Her lashing is today.”
“What time?”
“Four.” I opened Lana’s dossier and staring at me was her profile. My eyes glanced at her date of birth and I did the sum in my head.

"did the sum" doesn't really work. Okay, I hate when people use the word "did" in sentences like this. You should "work out" the math or "add the two, carry the four and divide the difference by pi" but never "did". It really is crap. It goes along with the term "undid" and should be put out in a pasture and shot. How about glancing at the date of birth and figuring her age? It's so much easier. Also, the "sum" doesn't work. Sometimes your style gets in your way. Remember K.I.S.S.

“Lydia, she’s only twenty one!”
“And?”
“It’s her first offence for fuck sake, you can’t hang a twenty one year old. It isn’t right.”
“She was perfectly aware of the rules. Am I to take it that you’re questioning orders from above? That’s a lashing offence.”
“Oh yeah, I’m going to flog myself now aren‘t I?”
“No. I’ll be the one doing it if you keep it up.”

I wouldn't mind a few inflections so I could get to know the Lydia. You know, get to see if she is a bitch or playful. Just a few inflections, if you will. Maybe a "she said" thrown in along the way. You said you wanted to have a throw at dialog(ue) and that is a part of it. So, gimme a lil!

I leaned back on my chair and perused Lana’s file. There were naked pictures of her from every angle. I suppose my file was the same. She was an amazing looking girl- perfect figure, porcelain skin and one thing that really caught my attention was her deep green eyes, draped over with a wisp of jet black hair. They had a hypnotic quality- like green pools you almost felt like drowning in. I read on.

Do you like hyphens? I like hyphens. But not as much as you do. Also, the sentence in red has no flow. It feels akward and drawn out.

Naked pictures are good since most pictures don't where clothing. You can be more fluid and more interesting in going over the pictures. I've seen you write with more style than this. You seem to go stylistic at the wrong times and then get sophomoric in the least likely places.

I suggest changing hte order of this paragraph. Peruse the file, note how lovely she is from the photographs within. In particular, note how piercing her eyes are - they are so piercing that you "almost felt like drowning" in a cliche.

One of the “commando’s” reports detailed the events of the arrest. Apparently the operation was smooth. The team had broken into the house where Lana and her paramour were holed up. They simply shot him in the head, drugged her and bundled her into a car.

"rugged and bundled" might work pretty well. You do throw in extra words from time to time.

By the time anyone else knew what had happened, the Gulfstream was thirty seven thousand feet over the Atlantic on the way back to England. It was a textbook operation.
The reason Lydia had thrown the file on my desk was that I was the “punisher”.

Boooooooring. I can almost hear some poindexter handing this last sentence off.

If one of our girls broke the rules, they’d be taken down to the “theatre” and I’d give them fifty lashes with the cat of nine tales

Get out those hyphens for the "cat" and get rid of the "f" - "cat-o-nine-tails" if I am not mistaken.

Depending on the girl, the theatre could be packed. I never liked the job, but someone had to do it. If I’m honest, the only reason I stayed was for the money. I had a little bit of a gambling problem a few years back and lost a lot of money. A woman approached me one day. Told me that if I came and worked for them, not only would they pay off my debt but pay me a pretty salary. In essence, they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Wow, this would be an excellent time to bring in your stylistic charm and write so this isn't such a drag. By the way, the woman who approached this guy...how did she know of his troubles?

Well, let's see how you can string this paragraph together with fewer sentences and a bit more style.

Checking the cheap clock on the wall, I noticed it was twenty to four. Time to get cracking so to speak.

The theatre was in one of the towers and so was a circular room. A ten foot wooden pole stood in the centre of the room and the floor was surrounded by tiered rows of seats.

I bet you can combine a couple sentences and make this sound better, using the word "room" only once.

I stood down in the arena and looked up.

Yeah, that's akward. Standing down can mean no longer standing at attention - dropping his guard - it's not a good way to start this. Also, I've noticed you have a tendancy to be passive as hell.

"Standing in the arena's center I looked up ito the surrounding seats."

Only Lydia was present in the “crowd”. God damn her, hadn’t she anything else to do? This young girl would have enough on her plate without being made a spectacle. Couldn’t Lydia afford her a touch of dignity?

Okay, so Lydia is a bit sadistic. I think more of her personality could be brought into this a bit sooner. Also, why does Lydia being there make things more of a spectacle? I don't get that a bit.

For some reason, the rules demanded that I wear a mask over my eyes. That was kept in my locker where all the other equipment was stored. I took out everything I needed- ropes, collar, whip and mask. I didn’t have any special outfit for the job, just the standard club uniform; a crisp white shirt and a short black skirt- the same as all the other girls wore.
The black rubber mask was tiny- little bigger than a large pair of glasses. It felt tight and I didn’t know why. Had my head expanded? I checked everything and marched into the arena to wait.

Hold on Sparky! We just went down the road to boredom in a big, bad, nasty way.
For starters, this should have been a different paragraph since it had nothing to do with the arena. Also, if you are going to get into a list of shit like this you had better be prepared to say it in a far more interesting manner. Oh, I almost forgot - another hyphen. Oh, and his head needs to go on a diet. If this is for later you need to bring some sort of tone so we know it will be used. For now, this sounds like useless drivel in the story. Ho hum.

It wasn’t long before they brought the girl in. She was flanked by two wardens, not unattractive muscular girls that could take on the average man in a fight and win. The girls hands were cuffed in front of her, chained to her shackled ankles. I’d seen other girls cry at the thought of their flogging but this one, with her demise imminent, stood tall and impassive.

Okay, it wasn't loing before she was brought in, but it sure was a dull wait. You are sooooooooooo passive. This is the moment of truth and "it wasn't long", "she was flanked", hands were cuffed", stood tall and impassive"...hmm, impassive. "Flanking her were two wardens, attractive and muscular...and other cool stuff. All of your sentences don't have to be immediate. It wouldn't work well that way. Unfortunately, every sentence is passive. This gal, I get the impression that there was somethign regal about her. Make me see this queen of slaves. Bring her to life.

The wardens roughly unlocked her bindings and brutally tore her clothes off.

Change the order of this sentence and adjust your adjectives...or is it adverbs? Start this with "Roughly" and then consider if clothes can really be torn off in a brutal manner. I think another adverb might be better put.

It was time for me to get to work. Gingerly, (really?)
I fastened the collar around her neck and led her to the pole where I chained one of the rings of the collar to a hoop, fastening her neck in place. I pressed her tightly against the pole, the shaft between her firm breasts, and tied her legs to the base with some rope. A hook jutted out on the other side of the post just above her head. A fastened the leather cuffs around her wrists and hung the chain from the hook, hoisting her hands above her. With my longest length of rope, I wrapped it around her waist and tied it tightly. I could see the rope digging into her pale, goose pimpled flesh- I suppose some things couldn’t be helped. Once I was sure she was secure, I began.

It took you forever to get to non-passive moments. When you did finally go in for the action it was at the end of the sentences - every stinking time. Start with some action...liven it up. And, come on, this guy is gonna wail on her and he is worried about a little rope burn? He should be more worried about where he hits her. It didn't work for me here. Not in the least. You need to come up with a better way to show concern. After all, he is worried about her imminent death. Perhaps he should make her suffering even worse so she might be more likely to be shown mercy.

I really have to hand it to her. With each sharp blow I delivered she did not whimper once. Only the cuts and welts on her back belied her pain.

This is so weak I am surprised your fingers didn't break when the words came out. Say this better. I've seen you do so - with less words, even.

I personally felt that a flogging would be enough for this girl. She knew the pain of disobedience and with one so young, she was unlikely to do it again. Still, I thought as I delivered the final crack, it wasn’t up to me.

Did you fall asleep at the wheel? Two "she"s in one confusing sentence. Finally, the last sentence was crap.


Okay - I have to get moving. I will try to review the rest of this in a few days. Hold on to your ass, Horation, 'cause I have a lot of bitching to do.

Hasta for now,
Dean

[H Dean]

Tra la la...away we go...

After I had tidied the arena and put my gear away, I trudged deep into the bowels of the manor to the girl’s holding cell. Apart from her, the cells were empty. The two wardens stood outside and unlocked the door for me. Myself and the girl didn’t have any privacy as the wardens listened through the bars.

"Myself and the girl..." is ungainly as hell.

Part of my job was to explain the execution procedure to the girl.
I sat on the chair opposite her and I explained in minute detail every aspect of the hanging. She listened, again impassive. After I had finished my explanation I leaned across and clasped her hands in mine. Gazing into her enchanting eyes I told her everything I wanted to say.

Try "Explaining".

“You took your flogging well. You didn’t show them any pain. I’ve got to give you that.” She smiled weakly. “Look, you need to be strong tomorrow. You show them any weakness, they’ll love it.”
“Aren’t you one of them?” She had me there. I paused, trying to think of something to say but I couldn’t.
“Yes. But I didn’t want it to happen this way.” I noticed her eyes were looking at my neck.
“Isn’t that a Saint Christopher’s medal?” I looked down at the pendant around my neck.
“It is. Patron saint of travellers.”
“I was wondering if maybe you could let me have it. I’m don’t want to be alone on my journey.”
“Lana I’m sorry but it’s kind of a family heirloom. My mother would kill me if she knew I gave it away.” She looked disappointed. “Remember what I said, be strong, be brave. Whatever about the rest of them, I’m rooting for you.”

This was fine but would have been better served with a brief touch on the main character's departure. This could have been quite a sad moment - an exchange between the two as one left the room.

My husband never asked about what I did at work. In fact he grew tired of the stonewalling whenever he asked. I just told him that I worked for the government and I was bound by the Official Secrets Act and if I told him anything, I could go to prison. In reality, if I told him anything, I’d be hanged.

How about "had I revealed the truth"?
Try to find different ways to phrase.

I can recall (as bad as my memory is) an author who would ocassionally wind up a punishment but deliver it as a reward. In essence, your last sentence here would have been put "the reality was that, had I revealed the truth, my reward would have been a proper hanging from a stout tree." Little things like that can add to the starkness of situation, I've noticed.

I lay awake on the pillow beside him while he sat up in bed reading Bukowski. As soon as his eyelids began to droop, he put (putting) the book down and noticed (noticing)I was still awake. He kissed (kissing) me on the lips and noticed (noticing) my sullen demeanour.

Get away from so much passive writing. everything is past tense here. As stylistic as you tend to be you forget to stylize your action...even if it's not terribly active. Clearly, you can't make eveyrthing active...the parts in red there are to illustrate where you could get rid of some of the passive phrasing and bring things a little more immediacy. Just change one of the passive words in each sentence and you can change how the paragraph reads. Remember, you have to vary how things are presented and things are almost always presented in the past tense with this story.

“Anything wrong?” I faked a smile.
“No.”

"Anything wrong?"
"No," I said, faking a smile.

“OK then, good night baby.” As he snored, I still lay awake thinking of the girl. I felt lousy for not giving her my medal. Maybe there was still time to make it up to her. My conscience had never felt this bad about an execution. The ones I had previously hanged had killed their masters. Maybe I didn’t think hanging them was right, but it was better them than Lana. Gradually, with a heavy conscience, I drifted off to sleep.

I waited patiently on the gallows for the wardens to bring the prisoner out. Again, the mask obscured a small part of my face. The clank of chains and the thump of feet on wood became audible and Lana appeared up the steps, bound like she had been the previous day and wearing the organisation’s uniform, just as I wore. They led her over to the trapdoor and unbound her. Then, they retired to the room beneath. Myself and Lana were completely alone.
Nothing in her face revealed the abject terror she must have been feeling. I respected her for that. That young girl standing tall atop the gallows could so easily have been me ten years ago. I shuddered at the thought. It was time for me to get to work.
“Have you anything to say before sentence is carried out?” She was silent. I tied up her hair pulled the black hood over her head. Lana would never see the light of day again. It was such a waste. I strapped her long, slender legs together at the ankles and cuffed her hands behind her back. With a short length of rope, I pulled her elbows together and bound them, hoisting her young breasts upwards. As a final dignified act, I wrapped wound some rope around her skirt so as it wouldn’t flap when she went through the trapdoor. Believe me, there were people down there looking up.
I dropped the noose dangling from the beam above, over the hood and tightened it around her beautiful neck. With that, Lana was ready. I went to the trapdoor lever. The drop would take place at my discretion. Looking at her, I thought of one last thing. Unclasping my St. Christopher’s medal from around my neck, I walked over to her and pressed it into her hand. She must have known what I was doing, as she grasped it in her palm and squeezed.
A lump formed in my throat as I tried to delay the drop for as long as I could. Eventually, I decided I must proceed. With a heave, I pulled the lever back. Lana fell and after travelling quite a distance the rope snagged and I heard a crack. It swayed and rocked from side to side. With every execution I had done, there had been a cheer from the crowd below, but now there was silence; just the creaking of wood as a tear fell from my mask. I marched quickly away from the gallows and back to my office
I sincerely hoped that I had done my best for her- that she hadn’t felt any pain. They’d be taking her down now for burial or cremation. I typed furiously on my keyboard and produced a short letter. Barging into Lydia’s office, I didn’t knock. I slapped the letter on her desk.
“What’s this?”
“Read it.” Lydia opened the envelope and scanned through the letter, stony faced.
“So you’re leaving us?”
“In two weeks.”
“What made you decide?”
“I couldn’t do it any more. Seeing that girl dangle at the end of that rope made me sick. I could see myself in her.”
“Of course, you never went down the slave route. By the way, don’t you owe us a debt?”
“As far as I’m concerned, today, I paid it.”
The next two weeks drifted slowly by. Some of the girls in the administration end bought me a cake. The whole thing was nothing out of the ordinary- just like leaving any office job.
As I pulled away from the manor in my car for the last time, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw Lydia leaning against one of the Doric columns looking out nonchalantly over the estate. I don’t know whether she knew it or not, but beside her stood Lana, smiling and waving. I smiled back.

Okay, I am not going to bounce you on each and every passive moment or each poorly phrased sentence. You got the drift, I am sure.

Question: Did your character sound like a woman? Did she talk like a woman? I didn't get that at all. She sounded like a man. Remember, women tend to find things that men tend to ignore. They also tend to ignore things men tend to see.

Assignments:
Work on finding your female voice.
Work out your tendency towards the passive voice.
Work out your tendency towards wordiness (be economical)

Now, go get me a re-write of this story so I can rip you another new one. I figure that, by the time we are done with this story you will have 5 or 6 new assholes. Sounds harsh but you will never be constipated again!

Dean

[H Dean]

I wanted to add one thing...maybe two or three...ya never know where I will go.

When you are writing in first person, you have to try to create a personality and stick to it. At the same time you don't want to get too far away from the basic rules of structure. On the other hand, if you write first person and completely ditch the rules of writing and grammar, it can explode out of the pages and into your imagination. It is a good idea to decide if your character can explode or not. If the character can't explode you should probably adhere to the rules and maybe add a quirk or two. In that manner you won't tweak your reader's understanding of grammar but you will give your character an identity.

Of course, not everyone will share this opinion. Those people are wrong, however. Nyah!

Have fun!
Dean

[Horatio Palmer]

I agree with you completely on that one. I'll probably try working on something like that as part of another story soon. I think this desire is just as a result of reading Charles Bukowski, but I love the sound of my internal monologue.

[Horatio Palmer]

I haven't disappeared. Really. I'll get to this as soon as I possibly can.

[H Dean]

Worry not, young grasshopper, I have much patience. I also have a pebble (rock) for you to snatch from my hand - or to throw at you if I get annoyed.

[H Dean]

By the way, Mr Stylization, in honor of your avatar - remember your limitations. A man's got to know his limitations.

[Horatio Palmer]

So true.

[Horatio Palmer]

I never knew why Lana had broken one of the capital rules. Didn’t she know what would happen if she were caught? It was probably just inexperience- the bravura of youth. They always think they’ll get away with it. She was only twenty one.

I was sitting in my office playing Solitaire on the computer when Lydia walked in. In her hand she held a file.
“I’ve got a job for you.”
“Ooh, someone’s been a naughty girl. Who was it, Sasha?”
“No, Lana Mills.”
“Lana Mills, Lana Mills… Isn’t she one of the new ones?”
“Uh huh.”
“What’s she done?”
“It’s serious.” she said gravely.
“How serious?”
“She ran away from her master and eloped with one of his friends. It‘s a capital offence.”
“Oh Christ! No! What age is she?”
“I’ll leave her dossier with you. Have a read of it.”
“When’s the date set?”
“Tomorrow. Her lashing is today.” she said, with a perverted delight.
“What time?”
“Four.” I opened Lana’s dossier and staring at me was her profile. Glancing at her date of birth, I figured out her age.
“Lydia, she’s only twenty one!”
“And?”
“It’s her first offence for fuck sake, you can’t hang a twenty one year old. It isn’t right.”
“She was perfectly aware of the rules. Am I to take it that you’re questioning orders from above? That’s a lashing offence.”
“Oh yeah, I’m going to flog myself now aren‘t I?”
“No. I’ll be the one doing it if you keep it up.” she retorted sadistically.

I leaned back on my chair and perused Lana’s file. There were pictures of her, naked, from every angle. I suppose my file was the same. She was an amazing looking girl, her porcelain skin draped over an hourglass figure. But the one thing that really caught my attention were her green eyes, like glistening emeralds, with a wisp of jet black hair dangling over one. I read on.
One of the “commando’s” reports detailed the events of the arrest. Apparently the operation was smooth. The team had broken into the house where Lana and her paramour were holed up. They simply shot him in the head, drugged and bundled her into a car. By the time anyone else knew what had happened, the Gulfstream was thirty seven thousand feet over the Atlantic on the way back to England. It was a textbook operation. Lydia had left her file with me. Now she was my business.
If one of our girls broke the rules, they’d be taken down to the “theatre” and I’d give them fifty lashes with the cat o’ nine tales. Depending on the girl, the theatre could be packed. I never liked the job, but someone had to do it. If I’m honest, the only reason I stayed was for the money. I had a little bit of a gambling problem a few years back and lost a lot of money. A woman approached me one day and told me that if I came and worked for them, not only would they pay off my debt but pay me a pretty salary. In essence, they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I never found out how they discovered my predicament.
Checking the cheap clock on the wall, I noticed it was twenty to four. Time to get cracking so to speak.

The theatre was in one of the towers and so, was a circular room. A ten foot wooden pole stood in the centre of the ring, surrounded by tiered rows of seats. I stood below in the arena and looked up. Only Lydia was present in the “crowd”. God damn her, hadn’t she anything else to do? This young girl would have enough on her plate without being gawked at. Couldn’t Lydia afford her a touch of dignity?

For some reason, the rules demanded that I wear a mask over my eyes. That was kept in my locker where all the other equipment was stored. I took out everything I needed- the stout ropes, the thick collar and the cruel whip. I didn’t have any special outfit for the job, just the standard club uniform; a crisp white shirt and a short black skirt- the same as all the other girls wore.
The black rubber mask was tiny- little bigger than a large pair of glasses. I checked everything and marched into the arena to await the girl. When they brought her in, two wardens, attractive muscular girls flanked her on both sides. The girls hands were cuffed in front of her, chained to her shackled ankles. I’d seen other girls cry at the thought of their flogging but this one, with her demise imminent, stood tall and impassive, as if she‘d been here ten thousand times before.
Roughly, the wardens unlocked her bindings and tore her clothes off. It was time for me to get to work. I fastened the collar around her neck and led her to the pole where I chained one of the rings of the collar to a hoop, fastening her neck in place. Tightly, I pressed her against the pole, the shaft between her firm breasts, and tied her legs to the base with some rope. A hook jutted out on the other side of the post just above her head. Fastening the leather cuffs around her wrists I hung the chain from the hook, hoisting her hands above her. With my longest length of rope, I wrapped it around her waist and tied it. The rope digging into her pale, goose pimpled flesh.
I have to hand it to her. With each sharp blow I delivered she didn’t whimper once. Only the cuts and welts on her back told the true story. Personally, I felt that a flogging would be enough for this girl. She knew the pain of disobedience and with one so young, was unlikely to do it again. But it wasn‘t up to me.
After I had tidied the arena and put my gear away, I trudged deep into the bowels of the manor to the girl’s holding cell. Apart from her, the cells were empty. The two wardens stood outside and unlocked the door for me. We didn’t have any privacy as the wardens listened through the bars. Part of my job was to explain the execution procedure to the girl.
I sat on the chair opposite her and I explained in minute detail every aspect of the hanging. She listened, again impassive. After I had finished explaining, I leaned across and clasped her hands in mine. Gazing into her enchanting eyes I told her everything I wanted to say.
“You took your flogging well. You didn’t show them any pain. I’ve got to give you that.” She smiled weakly. “Look, you need to be strong tomorrow. You show them any weakness, they’ll love it.”
“Aren’t you one of them?” She had me there. I paused, trying to think of something to say but I couldn’t.
“Yes. But I didn’t want it to happen this way.” I noticed her eyes were looking at my neck.
“Isn’t that a Saint Christopher’s medal?” I looked down at the pendant around my neck.
“It is. Patron saint of travellers.”
“I was wondering if maybe you could let me have it. I don’t want to be alone on my journey.”
“Lana I’m sorry but it’s kind of a family heirloom. My mother would kill me if she knew I gave it away.” She looked disappointed. I got up and as I went out the door, I turned to her.
“Remember what I said, be strong, be brave. Whatever about the rest of them, I’m rooting for you.”

My husband never asked about what I did at work. In fact he grew tired of the stonewalling whenever he asked. I just told him that I worked for the government and I was bound by the Official Secrets Act and if I told him anything, I could go to prison. In reality, had I revealed the truth, I’d be hanged.
I lay awake on the pillow beside him while he sat up in bed reading Bukowski. With his eyelids beginning to droop, he put the book down and noticing I was still awake, kissed me on the lips.
“Anything wrong?”
“No,” I said, faking a smile.
“OK then, good night baby.” As he snored, I still lay awake thinking of the girl. I felt lousy for not giving her my medal. Maybe there was still time to make it up to her. My conscience had never felt this bad about an execution. The ones I had previously hanged had killed their masters. Maybe I didn’t think hanging them was right, but it was better them than Lana. Gradually, with a heavy conscience, I drifted off to sleep.

I waited patiently on the gallows for the wardens to bring the prisoner out. Again, the mask obscured a small part of my face. The clank of chains and the thump of feet on wood became audible and Lana appeared up the steps, bound like she had been the previous day and wearing the organisation’s uniform, just like me. They led her over to the trapdoor and unbound her. Then, retiring to the room beneath, left myself and Lana completely alone.
Nothing in her face revealed the abject terror she must have been feeling. I respected her for that. That young girl standing tall atop the gallows could so easily have been me ten years ago. I shuddered at the thought. It was time for me to get to work.
“Have you anything to say before sentence is carried out?” She was silent. I tied up her hair pulled the black hood over her head. Lana would never see the light of day again. It was such a waste. I strapped her long, slender legs together at the ankles and cuffed her hands behind her back. With a short length of rope, I pulled her elbows together and bound them, hoisting her pert young breasts upwards. As a final dignified act, I wrapped wound some rope around her skirt so as it wouldn’t flap when she went through the trapdoor. Believe me, there were people down there looking up.
Dropping the noose dangling from the beam above, and pulling it over the hood, I tightened it around her beautiful neck. With that, Lana was ready. I went to the trapdoor lever. The drop would take place at my discretion. Looking at her, I thought of one last thing. Unclasping my St. Christopher’s medal from around my neck, I walked over to her and pressed it into her hand. She must have known what I was doing, as she grasped it in her palm and squeezed.
With a lump forming in my throat I tried to delay the drop for as long as possible, but I knew I had to proceed. With a heave, I pulled the lever back. Lana fell and after travelling quite a distance the rope snagged and I heard a crack. It swayed and rocked from side to side. With every execution I had done, there had been a cheer from the crowd below, but now there was silence; just the creaking of wood as a tear fell from my mask. Marching quickly away from the gallows I went back to my office
I sincerely hoped that I had done my best for her- that she hadn’t felt any pain. They’d be taking her down now for burial or cremation. Typing furiously on my keyboard I produced a short letter. Barging into Lydia’s office, I slapped the letter on her desk.
“What’s this?”
“Read it.” Lydia opened the envelope and scanned through the letter, stony faced.
“So you’re leaving us?”
“In two weeks.”
“What made you decide?”
“I couldn’t do it any more. Seeing that girl dangle at the end of that rope made me sick. I could see myself in her.”
“Of course, you never went down the slave route. By the way, don’t you owe us a debt?”
“As far as I’m concerned, today, I paid it.”

The next two weeks drifted slowly by. Some of the girls in the administration end bought me a cake. The whole thing was nothing out of the ordinary- just like leaving any office job.
As I pulled away from the manor in my car for the last time, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw Lydia leaning against one of the Doric columns looking nonchalantly out over the estate. I don’t know whether she knew it or not, but beside her stood Lana, smiling and waving. I smiled back.

[Horatio Palmer]

Here's the latest version of this with some amendments. I wanted to get the groundwork (structure, syntax etc.) right before I moved onto finding my female voice and such.

CT

[H Dean]

okay - I have read this and intend on getting a proper disection up soon. Sorry it's taking me so long but shit gets in the way. I plan on having something up within a week - probably over the thanksgiving holiday = maybe sooner.

Dean

[Horatio Palmer]

No problems. I look forward to it.

[H Dean]

I have been trying to get the time to post my thoughts on this but things are insane. I can't do it where I am now (at work) because of obvious reasons. I am going to try to get to it this weekend but it's my weekend with my daughter.

Anyhow, I just wanted to let you know I haven't forgotten ya.

[Horatio Palmer]

Right-o. No problem. This time of year, things are always really busy.

HP

[H Dean]

I am a bit pissed right now. I tried like hell to post the things I would change here - not a lot - and the damned forum went to shit. I lost everything I input. I am gonna give it another try tomorrow if I can manage it.

[Horatio Palmer]

Damn. That is a pain in the arse. I hate it when that happens to me (all too often).

[H Dean]

I never knew why Lana had broken one of the capital rules. Didn’t she know what would happen if she were caught? It was probably just inexperience- the bravura of youth. They always think they’ll get away with it. She was only twenty one.

I was sitting in my office playing Solitaire on the computer when Lydia walked in. In her hand she held a file.[...walked in carrying a file.
“I’ve got a job for you.”
“Ooh, someone’s been a naughty girl. Who was it, Sasha?”
“No, Lana Mills.”
“Lana Mills, Lana Mills… Isn’t she one of the new ones?”
“Uh huh.”
“What’s she done?”
“It’s serious.” she said gravely.
“How serious?”
“She ran away from her master and eloped with one of his friends. It‘s a capital offence.”
“Oh Christ! No! What age is she?”
“I’ll leave her dossier with you. Have a read of it.”
“When’s the date set?”
“Tomorrow. Her lashing is today.” she said, with a perverted delight.
“What time?”
“Four.” I opened Lana’s dossier and staring at me was her profile. This doesn't quite flow
Glancing at her date of birth, I figured out her age.
“Lydia, she’s only twenty one!”
“And?”
“It’s her first offence for fuck sake, you can’t hang a twenty one year old. It isn’t right.”
“She was perfectly aware of the rules. Am I to take it that you’re questioning orders from above? That’s a lashing offence.”
“Oh yeah, I’m going to flog myself now aren‘t I?”
“No. I’ll be the one doing it if you keep it up.” she retorted sadistically.

I leaned back on my chair and perused Lana’s file. There were pictures of her, naked, from every angle. I suppose my file was the same. She was an amazing looking girl, her porcelain skin draped over an hourglass figure.
Passive voice killed this. It's your major downfall.
But the one thing that really caught my attention were her green eyes, like glistening emeralds, with a wisp of jet black hair dangling over one. I read on.
One of the “commando’s” reports detailed the events of the arrest. Apparently the operation was smooth. The team had broken into the house where Lana and her paramour were holed up. They simply shot him in the head, drugged and bundled her into a car. By the time anyone else knew what had happened, the Gulfstream was thirty seven thousand feet over the Atlantic on the way back to England. It was a textbook operation. Lydia had left her file with me. Now she was my business.
If one of our girls broke the rules, they’d be taken down to the “theatre” and I’d give them fifty lashes with the cat o’ nine tales. Depending on the girl, the theatre could be packed. I never liked the job, but someone had to do it. If I’m honest, the only reason I stayed was for the money. I had a little bit of a gambling problem a few years back and lost a lot of money. A woman approached me one day and told me that if I came and worked for them, not only would they pay off my debt but pay me a pretty salary. In essence, they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I never found out how they discovered my predicament.
Checking the cheap clock on the wall, I noticed it was twenty to four. Time to get cracking so to speakThe pun sort of seems out of character considering her mind-set regarding the girl's situation
The theatre was in one of the towers and so, was a circular room. A ten foot wooden pole stood in the centre of the ring, surrounded by tiered rows of seats. I stood below in the arena and looked up. Only Lydia was present in the “crowd”. God damn her, hadn’t she anything else to do? This young girl would have enough on her plate without being gawked at. Couldn’t Lydia afford her a touch of dignity?

For some reason, the rules demanded that I wear a mask over my eyes. That was kept in my locker where all the other equipment was stored. I took out everything I needed- the stout ropes, the thick collar and the cruel whip. I didn’t have any special outfit for the job, just the standard club uniform; a crisp white shirt and a short black skirt- the same as all the other girls wore.
The black rubber mask was tiny- little bigger than a large pair of glasses. I checked everything and marched into the arena to await the girl. When they brought her in, two wardens, attractive muscular girls flanked her on both sides. The girls hands were cuffed in front of her, chained to her shackled ankles. I’d seen other girls cry at the thought of their flogging but this one, with her demise imminent, stood tall and impassive, as if she‘d been here ten thousand times before.
Roughly, the wardens unlocked her bindings and tore her clothes off. Give me a little more description of the clothes ripping off and how they left her beautiful body naked and covered in goose bumps at the sudden cold. You sometimes lack description where it could really lend to a moment

It was time for me to get to work. I fastened Passive voice again - give me something more now with this sentencethe collar around her neck and led her to the pole where I chained one of the rings of the collar to a hoop, fastening her neck in place. Tightly, I pressed her against the pole, the shaft between her firm breasts, and tied [red] passive again - tying her legs would give a better feel here[/red] her legs to the base with some rope. A hook jutted out on the other side of the post just above her head. Fastening the leather cuffs around her wrists I hung the chain from the hook, hoisting her hands above her. With my longest length of rope, I wrapped it around her waist and tied it. The rope digging into her pale, goose pimpled flesh.
I have to hand it to her. With each sharp blow I delivered she didn’t whimper once. Only the cuts and welts on her back told the true story. Personally, I felt that a flogging would be enough for this girl. She knew the pain of disobedience and with one so young, was unlikely to do it again. But it wasn‘t up to me.
After I had tidied the arena and put my gear away, I trudged deep into the bowels of the manor to the girl’s holding cell. Apart from her, the cells were empty. The two wardens stood outside and unlocked the door for me. We didn’t have any privacy as the wardens listened through the bars. Part of my job was to explain the execution procedure to the girl. How did the girl get there?
I sat You start out passive again on the chair opposite her and I explained in minute detail every aspect of the hanging. She listened, again impassive. After I had finished explaining, I leaned across and clasped her hands in mine. Gazing into her enchanting eyes I told her everything I wanted to say.
“You took your flogging well. You didn’t show them any pain. I’ve got to give you that.” She smiled weakly. “Look, you need to be strong tomorrow. You show them any weakness, they’ll love it.”
“Aren’t you one of them?” She had me there. I paused, trying to think of something to say but I couldn’t.
“Yes. But I didn’t want it to happen this way.” I noticed her eyes were looking at my neck.
“Isn’t that a Saint Christopher’s medal?” I looked down at the pendant around my neck.
“It is. Patron saint of travellers.”
“I was wondering if maybe you could let me have it. I don’t want to be alone on my journey.”
“Lana I’m sorry but it’s kind of a family heirloom. My mother would kill me if she knew I gave it away.” She looked disappointed. I got up and as I went out the door, I turned to her.
“Remember what I said, be strong, be brave. Whatever about the rest of them, I’m rooting for you.”

My husband never asked about what I did at work. In fact , he grew tired of the stonewalling whenever he asked. I just Just is a crap word - "simply" would work better, but "just" is too sophomoric told him that I worked for the government and I was bound by the Official Secrets Act and if I told him anything, I could go to prison. In reality, had I revealed the truth, I’d be hanged.
I lay awake on the pillow beside him while he sat up in bed reading Bukowski. With his eyelids beginning to droop, he put the book down and noticing I was still awake, kissed me on the lips.
“Anything wrong?”
“No,” I said, faking a smile.
“OK then, good night baby.” As he snored, I still lay awake thinking of the girl. I felt lousy for not giving her my medal. Maybe there was still time to make it up to her. My conscience had never felt this bad about an execution. The ones I had previously hanged had killed their masters. Maybe I didn’t think hanging them was right, but it was better them than Lana. Gradually, with a heavy conscience, I drifted off to sleep.

I waited patiently on the gallows for the wardens to bring the prisoner out. Again, the mask obscured a small part of my face. The clank of chains and the thump of feet on wood became audible and Lana appeared up the steps, bound like she had been the previous day and wearing the organisation’s uniform, just like me. They led her over to the trapdoor and unbound her. Then, retiring to the room beneath, left myself and Lana completely alone.
Nothing in her face revealed the abject terror she must have been feeling. I respected her for that. That young girl standing tall atop the gallows could so easily have been me ten years ago. I shuddered at the thought. It was time for me to get to work.
“Have you anything to say before sentence is carried out?” She was silent. I tied up her hair pulled the black hood over her head. Lana would never see the light of day again. It was such a waste. I strapped her long, slender legs together at the ankles and cuffed her hands behind her back. With a short length of rope, I pulled her elbows together and bound them, hoisting her pert young breasts upwards. As a final dignified act, I wrapped wound some rope around her skirt so as it wouldn’t flap when she went through the trapdoor. Believe me, there were people down there looking up.
Dropping the noose dangling from the beam above, and pulling it over the hood, I tightened it around her beautiful neck. With that, Lana was ready. I went to the trapdoor lever. The drop would take place at my discretion. Looking at her, I thought of one last thing. Unclasping my St. Christopher’s medal from around my neck, I walked over to her and pressed it into her hand. She must have known what I was doing, as she grasped it in her palm and squeezed.
With a lump forming in my throat I tried to delay the drop for as long as possible, but I knew I had to proceed. With a heave, I pulled the lever back. Lana fell and after travelling quite a distance the rope snagged and I heard a crack. It swayed and rocked from side to side. With every execution I had done, there had been a cheer from the crowd below, but now there was silence; just the creaking of wood as a tear fell from my mask. Marching quickly away from the gallows I went back to my office
I sincerely hoped that I had done my best for her- that she hadn’t felt any pain. They’d be taking her down now for burial or cremation. Typing furiously on my keyboard I produced a short letter. Barging into Lydia’s office, I slapped the letter on her desk.
“What’s this?”
“Read it.” Lydia opened the envelope and scanned through the letter, stony faced.
“So you’re leaving us?”
“In two weeks.”
“What made you decide?”
“I couldn’t do it any more. Seeing that girl dangle at the end of that rope made me sick. I could see myself in her.”
“Of course, you never went down the slave route. By the way, don’t you owe us a debt?”
“As far as I’m concerned, today, I paid it.”

The next two weeks drifted slowly by. Some of the girls in the administration end bought me a cake. The whole thing was nothing out of the ordinary- just like leaving any office job.
As I pulled away from the manor in my car for the last time, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw Lydia leaning against one of the Doric columns looking nonchalantly out over the estate. I don’t know whether she knew it or not, but beside her stood Lana, smiling and waving. I smiled back.

I could go on and on about how you are so passive in your writing but I think you get the drift after the few comments I made. I didn't hammer on all the places where you were too passive. It's fine to start with passive voice and then switch up. Unfortunately, you tend to start passive and remain passive. Also, a bit more combining of sentences will help flow. Don't get carried away with it but do eliminate "and" a bit more and throw in a comma instead.

This is a good story - I think I've mentioned that before. A bit of sprucing should see this tale hit the mark even better.

Oh, before I forget, you've a tendency to put the description of how the person is speaking/looking at the end of the dialog. It is a good idea to mix it up. Sometimes do it at the beginning and sometimes in the middle and other times at the end of the dialog.

Now that I have this up(fingers crossed that it'll post0, do you want a new assignment or do you want to try this one again?

[H Dean]

Whattaya know! It worked this time!

[Horatio Palmer]

I'll see what I can do with this one. I'll try get the passive voice sorted before I move onto a new assignment. I'll post this story once more and then get cracking on a new assignment.

[H Dean]

Groovy cool. I think once you have gotten past that passive voice being a constant moment killer you will be on your way to a kick ass story.

[Horatio Palmer]

I never knew why Lana had broken one of the capital rules. Didn’t she know what would happen if she were caught? It was probably just inexperience- the bravura of youth. They always think they’ll get away with it. She was only twenty one.

Sitting in my office playing Solitaire on the computer, Lydia walked in carrying a file.
“I’ve got a job for you.”
“Ooh, someone’s been a naughty girl. Who was it, Sasha?”
“No, Lana Mills.”
“Lana Mills, Lana Mills… Isn’t she one of the new ones?”
“Uh huh.”
“What’s she done?”
“It’s serious.” she said gravely.
“How serious?”
“She ran away from her master and eloped with one of his friends. It‘s a capital offence.”
“Oh Christ! No! What age is she?”
“I’ll leave her dossier with you. Have a read of it.”
“When’s the date set?”
“Tomorrow. Her lashing is today.” she said, with a perverted delight.
“What time?”
“Four.” I opened Lana’s dossier and looking over her profile I figured out her birthday.
“Lydia, she’s only twenty one!”
“And?”
“It’s her first offence for fuck sake, you can’t hang a twenty one year old. It isn’t right.”
“She was perfectly aware of the rules. Am I to take it that you’re questioning orders from above? That’s a lashing offence.”
“Oh yeah, I’m going to flog myself now aren‘t I?”
“No.” she retorted sadistically, “I’ll be the one doing it if you keep it up.”

I leaned back on my chair and perused Lana’s file. There were pictures of her, naked, from every angle. I suppose my file was the same- I remember the photo-shoot. She was an amazing looking girl, draping porcelain skin over her sumptuous hourglass figure. But the one thing that really caught my attention were her green eyes, like glistening emeralds, with a wisp of jet black hair dangling over one. I read on.
One of the “commando’s” reports detailed the events of the arrest. Apparently the operation was smooth. The team had broken into the house where Lana and her paramour were holed up. They simply shot him in the head, drugged and bundled her into a car. By the time anyone else knew what had happened, the Gulfstream was thirty seven thousand feet over the Atlantic on the way back to England. It was a textbook operation. Lydia had left her file with me. Now she was my business.
If one of our girls broke the rules, they’d be taken down to the “theatre” and I’d give them fifty lashes with the cat o’ nine tales. Depending on the girl, the theatre could be packed. I never liked the job, but someone had to do it. If I’m honest, the only reason I stayed was for the money. I had a little bit of a gambling problem a few years back and lost a lot of money. A woman approached me one day and told me that if I came and worked for them, not only would they pay off my debt but pay me a pretty salary. In essence, they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I never found out how they discovered my predicament.
Checking the cheap clock on the wall, I noticed it was twenty to four. Time to go.

The theatre was in one of the towers and so, was a circular room. A ten foot wooden pole stood in the centre of the ring, surrounded by tiered rows of seats. I stood below in the arena and looked up. Only Lydia was present in the “crowd”. God damn her, hadn’t she anything else to do? This young girl would have enough on her plate without being gawked at. Couldn’t Lydia afford her a touch of dignity?

For some reason, the rules demanded that I wear a mask over my eyes. That was kept in my locker where all the other equipment was stored. I took out everything I needed- the stout ropes, the thick collar and the cruel whip. I didn’t have any special outfit for the job, just the standard club uniform; a crisp white shirt and a short black skirt- the same as all the other girls wore.
The black rubber mask was tiny- little bigger than a large pair of glasses. I checked everything and marched into the arena to await the girl. When they brought her in, two wardens, attractive muscular girls, flanked her on both sides. The girls hands were cuffed in front of her, chained to her shackled ankles. I’d seen other girls cry at the thought of their flogging but this one, with her demise imminent, stood tall and impassive, as if she‘d been here ten thousand times before.
Roughly, the wardens unlocked her bindings and tore her clothes off. I felt the chill running up her back as the cold of the room hit her smooth, flawless flesh.

It was time for me to get to work. Fastening the collar around her neck, I led her to the pole where, chaining one of the rings of the collar to a hoop, I fixed her neck in place. Tightly, I pressed her against the pole, the shaft pushing between her firm breasts. Tying the ropes around her ankles in a figure of eight, I tugged at the knots to test their strength. I still knew how to tie a good knot. It’s a skill that never leaves you.
A hook jutted out on the other side of the post just above her head. Fastening the leather cuffs around her wrists I hung the chain from the hook, hoisting her hands above her. With my longest length of rope, I wrapped it around her waist and tied it, the fibre digging into her pale, goose pimpled flesh.
I have to hand it to her. With each sharp blow I delivered she didn’t whimper once. The merciless whip worked her art, leaving her agonising signature all over Lana‘s back. Personally, I felt that a flogging would be enough for this girl. She knew the pain of disobedience and with one so young, was unlikely to do it again. But it wasn‘t up to me.

After I had tidied the arena and put my gear away, I trudged deep into the bowels of the manor to the girl’s holding cell where the wardens had taken her after her flogging. Apart from her, the cells were empty. The two wardens stood outside and unlocked the door for me. We didn’t have any privacy as the wardens listened through the bars. Part of my job was to explain the execution procedure to the girl. Sitting on the chair opposite her, I explained in minute detail every aspect of the hanging. She listened, again impassive. After I had finished explaining, I leaned across and clasped her hands in mine. Gazing into her enchanting eyes I told her everything I wanted to say.
“You took your flogging well. You didn’t show them any pain. I’ve got to give you that.” She smiled weakly. “Look, you need to be strong tomorrow. You show them any weakness, they’ll love it.”
“Aren’t you one of them?” She had me there. I paused, trying to think of something to say but I couldn’t.
“Yes. But I didn’t want it to happen this way.” I noticed her eyes were looking at my neck.
“Isn’t that a Saint Christopher’s medal?” I looked down at the pendant around my neck.
“It is. Patron saint of travellers.”
“I was wondering if maybe you could let me have it. I don’t want to be alone when I go.”
“Lana I’m sorry but it’s kind of a family heirloom. My mother would kill me if she knew I gave it away.” She looked disappointed. I got up and as I went out the door, I turned to her.
“Remember what I said, be strong, be brave. Whatever about the rest of them, I’m rooting for you.”

My husband never asked about what I did at work. In fact, he grew tired of my constant stonewalling. All I told him was that I worked for the government and, bound by the Official Secrets Act, if I told him anything, I could go to prison. In reality, had I revealed the truth, I’d have been strung up from my own gallows.
I lay awake on the pillow beside him while he sat up in bed reading Bukowski. With his eyelids beginning to droop, he put the book down and noticing I was still awake, kissed me on the lips.
“Anything wrong?”
Faking a smile, I told him there wasn’t.
“OK then, good night baby.” As he snored, I still lay awake thinking of the girl. I felt lousy for not giving her my medal. Maybe there was still time to make it up to her. My conscience had never felt this bad about an execution. The ones I had previously hanged had killed their masters. Maybe I didn’t think hanging them was right, but it was better them than Lana. Gradually, my conscience heavy, I drifted off to sleep.

I waited patiently on the platform for the wardens to bring the prisoner out. Again, the mask obscured a small part of my face. The clank of chains and the thump of feet on wood became audible and Lana appeared up the steps, bound like she had been the previous day and wearing the organisation’s uniform, just like me. They led her over to the trapdoor and unfettered her. Retiring to the room beneath, they left myself and Lana completely alone.
Nothing in her face revealed the abject terror she must have been feeling. I respected her for that. That young girl standing tall atop the gallows could so easily have been me ten years ago. I shuddered at the thought. It was time for me to get to work.
“Have you anything to say before sentence is carried out?” She was silent. I tied up her satin hair and pulling the black hood over her head, made sure Lana would never see the light of day again. It was such a waste. I strapped her long, slender legs together at the ankles and cuffed her hands behind her back. With a short length of rope, I pulled her elbows together and bound them, hoisting her pert young breasts upwards. As a final dignified act, I wound some rope around her skirt so as it wouldn’t flap when she went through the trapdoor. Believe me, there were people down there looking up.
Dropping the noose dangling from the beam above, and pulling it over the hood, I tightened it around her elegant neck. With that, Lana was ready. I went to the trapdoor lever. The drop would take place at my discretion. Looking at her, I thought of one last thing. Unclasping my St. Christopher’s medal from around my neck, I walked over to her and pressed it into her hand. She must have known what I was doing, as she grasped it in her palm and squeezed.
With a lump forming in my throat I tried to delay the drop for as long as possible, but I knew I had to proceed. I could scarcely imagine the terror of standing there alone, no longer in control and about to meet a violent death. I hope the medal helped her feel that she wasn’t alone up there.
With a heave, I pulled the lever back. Lana fell and after travelling a few feet, the rope snagged and I heard a crack. It swayed and rocked from side to side. With every execution I had carried out, there had been a cheer from the crowd below, but now there was silence; just the creaking of wood as a tear fell from my mask. Marching quickly away from the gallows I went back to my office
I sincerely hoped that I had done my best for her- that she hadn’t felt any pain. They’d be taking her down now for burial or cremation. Typing furiously on my keyboard I produced a short letter. Barging into Lydia’s office, I slapped the letter on her desk.
“What’s this?”
“Read it.” Stony faced, Lydia opened the envelope and scanned through the letter.
“So you’re leaving us?”
“In two weeks.”
“What made you decide?”
“I couldn’t do it any more. Seeing that girl dangle at the end of that rope made me sick. I could see myself in her.”
“Of course, you never went down the slave route. By the way, don’t you owe us a debt?”
“As far as I’m concerned, today, I paid it.”

The next two weeks drifted slowly by. Some of the girls in the administration end bought me a cake. The whole thing was nothing out of the ordinary- just like leaving any office job.
As I pulled away from the manor in my car for the last time, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw Lydia leaning against one of the Doric columns looking nonchalantly out over the estate. I don’t know whether she knew it or not, but beside her stood Lana, smiling and waving. I smiled back.

[Horatio Palmer]

This is all I can do with this piece. I made a few changes here and there in addition to your suggestions. Could I have a new assignment please?

[H Dean]

Kinda figured you might be done with this one. There is only so far you can go with one tale before it gets irritating. I will get an assignment to you asap. Maybe even tonight!