The line was long, but moving steadily.
She watched over the railing at the conveyer belts. The line moved forward, curling around, and split into two parallel tracks that then moved back out of the room. Each conveyer belt held a series of hooks in the ceiling, from which dangled black cables that stretched down into nooses. From each noose hung a dead girl.
Well now, they weren’t technically dead yet, that was true. They were all kicking and flailing and writhing in the air, but they were effectively dead. There was no going back, the conveyer belt dragged them forward, the nooses tightened, and soon they would be dead. It was easier to think of them as dead from the moment their feet left the ground.
She looked down. There were drains under the conveyer belts, and with good reason. The hanging dead girls were very messy. Urine streamed from between their naked legs, and more solid filth slipped from their backsides.
The girls around her in the line were chatting, giggling, yelling, even cheering. She looked down and saw two embracing, [REDACTED] One took the other in a tight embrace, then stroked her companion’s throat, whispering into her ear. Her companion blushed and her faced deepened in color as the strokes turned to a tight grip, mimicking the embrace of the noose that was soon to follow.
She turned back to the belts. A dead girl was dancing not even four feet away from her, tits bouncing merrily. Her face was deep red and her eyes slightly crossed. Rasping noises were escaping her throat. She was dead though. All of them, once they were hanging, were dead.
The line moved ever closer. She shifted from foot to foot, agitated by the wait. It wasn’t that she was particularly eager to become a dead girl, but as it was inevitable she wished to simply get on with it already. The thought of stepping out of line and rushing ahead, cutting in front of twenty-odd girls, crossed her mind, and she giggled. It wasn’t as though they could reprimand her, after all, or punish her, the ultimate punishment had been given to her already.
A girl in front of her began to [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] louder even than the hanging dead girls.
[REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]
Nearly to the curling point, she kept watching the conveyer belts. A dead girl with pigtails was kicking wildly, crying out with loud gutteral noises. Her hair bobbed up and down, side to side, as her body thrashed through the air. Next to her, a dead girl hung nearly still, stretching her long legs down as far as they could go, mouth wide in a silent scream.
Now she could see the transition point, where one line became two. She watched as live girls were noosed by attendants, hoisted into the air by the conveyer belts, and promptly became dead girls. The process was rather quick.
The scent of urine filled her nostrils suddenly. She turned and saw a girl behind her, soaking wet now and trembling. She wrinkled her nose and turned back to the front of the line.
Attendants were ahead, bored looking women in grey blank uniforms.
“Hands,” they snapped to the girls in front of them. Once offered, they threaded a plastic ziptie around the wrists, snapped them in place, and said “Move.”
She gulped. The wait was almost over. Anticipation made her nerves stand on edge.
“Hands,” snapped an attendant, not even looking up at her.
She crossed her wrists behind her back and turned around.
A ziptie, not even a finger’s length wide, encircled her wrists tightly. It was snapped into place firmly.
“Move.” The attendant prodded her on the hip.
She stumbled forward, joining a cluster of girls with their wrists bound.
“Left … right … left … right … left … right …”
Soon she saw where this was coming from. Another attendant was grabbing a girl and pointing left or right and sending them to one of two lines.
“Left!” the attendant grabbed her shoulder and motioned in the direction.
She walked forward. This line was very short.
Glancing ahead she could see the two girls from the line who’d been embracing before. Now they were dead, kicking and wriggling on the end of black cable nooses. They ought to have shared a noose, she thought to herself.
Glancing to her side she saw one conveyer belt returning, fresh black cable nooses dangling empty.
There were three girls in front of her. She watched as the attendant grabbed a noose, fitted it over a girl’s neck, and then reached for a new noose. She watched as the newly noosed girl was pulled forward along the platform, and then off into empty air, and became dead.
Two girls in front of her. And then one was dead.
One girl in front of her. And then that one was noosed and being dragged to the edge by the conveyer belt.
Now it was her turn. She shivered with excitement. The attendant didn’t even speak to her, merely grabbed her hair and forced the noose down around her neck. A quick tug to make the cable snug around her throat, and that was it.
As the conveyer belt moved, she was forced to step forward. She was at the front of the line, at long last. The thought of turning to look behind her at the line crossed her mind, but then it was too late, one foot found emptiness beneath it, and then the other, and then she was dead.
She gasped, because being dead was extremely painful. She’d suspected as much, from witnessing the conveyer belts moving along, but it was still shocking. Nothing could have prepared her for the pain of being dead.
Her legs stretched out, paddling back and forth slowly, as if seeking some foothold. It was silly she knew, because she was dead and there would be no foothold beneath her ever again, but still she reached just the same.
She could see a dead girl dangling in front of her, pissing copiously. As her body turned and the cable noose tightened around her neck, she could see the other conveyer belt of dead girls too. And beyond them, she could see the line of live girls snaking around behind the railing. Not long ago she had been among them, and now she was dead.
Despite being dead, her body seemed to want to breathe. She gagged and gasped, and a few desperate stretches of air filled her burning lungs.
[REDACTED] as she kicked and twisted in the clutch of the noose. [REDACTED] [REDACTED] Her bound wrists tugged behind her, beating a steady rhythm against the small of her back. Perhaps if she could break the tie, she could [REDACTED] She was dead but it seemed a worthy goal.
Spinning in the air she could no longer breathe, she saw the conveyer belt returning. Fresh black cable nooses knotted perfectly, ready for fresh necks, moved steadily past her vision. Each of them would soon be heavy with a wriggling dead girl.
Spinning more, she saw down the line at the other dead girls ahead of her, and those on the parallel conveyer belt. On the parallel conveyer most she saw only of the back, bucking hips and shapely asses, bound hands and grasping fingers, tensed shoulders and noosed necks. [REDACTED] Another was leaking semi-solid waste. Another was moving and [REDACTED]
Perhaps in sympathy, perhaps from the grip of the noose, [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] just as had been rumored. She was so glad she had [REDACTED] The wait had been worth it.
She hung still and silent, content to be dead and [REDACTED] Warm wet urine splashed down her legs and she didn’t mind at all. There was a drain beneath her, and she was dead: the messiness had been prepared for.
Dragged along steadily through the air, she saw the other dead girls starting to slow in their kicking. Those before her in order were twitching and turning, but not thrashing so much. Those behind her kicked still, but much weaker than before.
Her blurring vision caught sight of the live girls at the railing. Two, or perhaps three, were [REDACTED] She wished she could tell them to wait, that [REDACTED] But she was dead, and speaking was impossible now.
It was dark now, though whether because she had left the large chamber and the waiting line or not she couldn’t tell. She stretched her feet one last time, and then lost all awareness entirely.
Inspired by Kaockl's art here: kaockl.deviantart.com/art/Maed…
Unfortunately some segments have been redacted due to dA's rules. But I heard a rumor that a certain darkened spot on the internet contains the full story ...
You captured all that vividly
(Could I trouble you for the link also please?)
Thank you very much!
(Check your messages.)
And it's so much better when they enjoy it too.
I agree! Too grim and nasty if they don't.
I mean, you could do it slowly perhaps. Begin with one victim, perhaps one or two attendants. They string her up, she's carried on a conveyer. Then the next one, and the next. It wouldn't be a lot of figures until the very end of the series, right? You could do a lot of close-ups of the individuals or two characters side by side.
I prefer to write characters who aren't panicked and frantic, because then they can't focus on the story and I want to be telling a coherent story. Plus it makes things rather chilling.
A gladiator story could be interesting. I am very busy but always seeking inspiration for new stories. Perhaps in the future ...
Again, thanks for kind answer to my comments.
At first the facility almost seems to be a factory, with conveyor-belt machinery and impersonal workers who have to handle a high volume of work. But on second thought it's not really run like a business. A slaughter-house kills livestock quickly and more or less painlessly. This facility seems to be set up to produce a slower and prolonged death -- perhaps for reasons of sadism or humiliation of the women, or to scare those waiting in line, or to scare the wider population when they hear rumors of what goes on at this place.
Like the narrator points out, the fact that the belt only moves one way is scary. All of them must know that when they're off the ground there's no going back.
The narrator does a good job of keeping her cool. She seems resigned to her fate or maybe enjoying the feelings of anticipation a little.
"She stumbled forward, joining a cluster of girls with their wrists bound."
I think that's my favorite paragraph. The image of a cluster of girls, all of them naked and bound and knowing what's about to happen, is powerful.
Anyway, tales of mechanized and impersonal death are extra scary and not totally farfetched compared to some things that really happened in the 20th century and in the 21st century so far.
At first the facility almost seems to be a factory, with conveyor-belt machinery and impersonal workers who have to handle a high volume of work. But on second thought it's not really run like a business. A slaughter-house kills livestock quickly and more or less painlessly. This facility seems to be set up to produce a slower and prolonged death -- perhaps for reasons of sadism or humiliation of the women, or to scare those waiting in line, or to scare the wider population when they hear rumors of what goes on at this place.
I must confess I wasn't really sure what sort of thing it is. A factory, a slaughterhouse, a mass execution? I'm not sure. I tried to indicate that the women in line have been conditioned to not panic and not question their fates, but how and why I leave up to the imaginations of the readers. I also wanted to indicate that it's not simply all women, the attendants are women and experienced in their work, they are not bound for the nooses.
Like the narrator points out, the fact that the belt only moves one way is scary. All of them must know that when they're off the ground there's no going back.
That is very true! That's what I wanted to emphasize for this story, the fear and inevitability.
The narrator does a good job of keeping her cool. She seems resigned to her fate or maybe enjoying the feelings of anticipation a little.
She certainly is! I find that much more interesting to write about then someone panicking and carrying on.
And not that you can tell from the redacted parts of the story, but she does enjoy herself quite a bit before the end of the story. (If you are interested in where you can find the unedited version of the story send me a message.)
I think that's my favorite paragraph. The image of a cluster of girls, all of them naked and bound and knowing what's about to happen, is powerful.
Thank you! I found it rather striking too!
Anyway, tales of mechanized and impersonal death are extra scary and not totally farfetched compared to some things that really happened in the 20th century and in the 21st century so far.
Yeah I didn't want to lean too much into that sort of thing but the comparisons are inevitable. I am not interested in real life atrocities in that way.
Heh, yes I noticed that and I like that part too. Somehow the story works better with a mostly female staff than if they were men or mixed.
I wonder what it would be like for one of the ladies on your staff to have a connection to someone who's there for processing -- perhaps a close friend, cousin, niece, sister, daughter, or whoever.
Or maybe one of your staff gets notified that she's been selected for processing at the facility in a week or so. How would her co-workers react? Would they give her a "going away" luncheon or some other recognition for her service? Maybe they'd smile, tell her "Congratulations" and "I'm sure you'll do great" as if it were good news. Some might be secretly thinking, "God, I'm glad it's not me." There might be one or two thinking, "I wouldn't mind taking my turn."
I didn't want to make it a gender imbalance thing, that's not a route I want to explore for this sort of stuff.
Or maybe one of your staff gets notified that she's been selected for processing at the facility in a week or so. How would her co-workers react? Would they give her a "going away" luncheon or some other recognition for her service? Maybe they'd smile, tell her "Congratulations" and "I'm sure you'll do great" as if it were good news. Some might be secretly thinking, "God, I'm glad it's not me." There might be one or two thinking, "I wouldn't mind taking my turn."
That is a frightening and interesting idea!