The Knight and the Acolyte Book 8 Chapter 8 Impaled by the Minotaur
- 2 years ago
- 62
- 0
Try To Be Or Not To Be free porn video
The girl took a long look at herself in a shop window under a streetlight,
at her blue jeans and purple shirt, her long brown hair, the coral
earrings upon her pierced ears, the coral necklace around her neck, the
bangles and small watch upon her wrist, and the lipstick and expertly
applied makeup upon her face. From her white handbag she took her diary
and placed it on the ground where somebody would find it and then kicked
off her shoes and with difficulty pulled herself up onto the part of the
bridge from which she could jump from, and took a quick look around to
make sure noone was nearby.
As I stand upon Waterloo Bridge in the middle of the night preparing to
throw myself into the freezing waters of the River Thames, I wonder if
anybody will read the journal that I left behind and understand why I
chose to die by drowning. Most likely the government will suppress it and
I'll be just another female suicide statistic. I'm innocent and unjustly
punished, that's what I hate most, and I never murdered little Katie
Garrett. Those two shits dropped me in it. I'd rather die then live a lie.
I bet those two are probably enjoying their new female identities, they
probably have boyfriends by now. Hold my nose... three, two, one... here I
go...
COLD! So cold... I've changed my mind, even my new fake life as Amber
Foyle is better then this. The currant is strong, it's sweeping me into
the middle... nobody is hearing my cries... of course not, it's two in the
morning, everyone is either asleep, out clubbing or out misbehaving.
Cold... can't swim, can't move... I'm sinking... can't breath...
strange... it's so peaceful down here, and I should... rest, sleep... Try
To Be or Not To Be. I chose not to be... must sleep...
Sergeant Howard of the Metropolitan Police sat at his desk with a diary in
front of him, a pink diary with a heart on the front that had obviously
belonged to Amber Foyle, the young woman who had been pulled from the
Thames. It had been found on the ground at what must have been the spot
where she had jumped. Such a pity really, that such a good-looking girl
(good looking before spending three days decaying in the Thames anyway)
should become just another suicide. Perhaps her diary would tell him why
she killed himself. Although he knew that the right thing to do would be
to hand the diary to a detective unread, his curiosity got the better of
him and he slipped on a pair of gloves to avoid leaving any fingerprints
and began to read.
December 7th 2007
The Diary of James McCarthy.
That's right, you bastards, James McCarthy, not dammed Amber Foyle, the
pretty young woman that the government wanted me to become. James McCarthy
the murderer, one of the three strong gang who aged only ten, kicked and
beat and finally stabbed the five year old Katie Garrett with a broken
bottle when he was aged only ten years old. Except that I'm not guilty.
You hear me-not guilty. The other two fitted me up to ruin my life, to
drag me down with them because I tried to stop them.
I don't remember much about the time before the murder happened, as I was
just a kid. A naughty boy, yes. I smashed windows, shoplifted sweets,
broke into building sites and abandoned houses to play, and yes I and my
friends did bully other kids, but we didn't do anything too bad. How was I
to know that my two friends were a lot nastier then I thought they were?
And then came the day when I went down to the canal and saw them kicking
and punching somebody. I got stuck in at first, we did everything together
and I thought they wouldn't be beating somebody up without a good reason.
Within a few seconds I stopped as soon as I saw who I was beating. Not
another boy my own age, but a little girl who was covered in bruises and
blood from a slash wound to the throat. I pushed my friends away and one
of them threw a broken beer bottle at me. I caught it, which of course got
my fingerprints all over it. Not that I fully understood as a ten year
old.
I shouted and swore at them and they ran away, and I knelt down and tried
to shake the girl back into life.
I fled the scene crying, and you may have wondered why I didn't find a
policeman at once and report my friends. Had I known that not doing so
would have earned me seven years in youth custody, another year being not
only locked up but forcibly feminised at the hands of the state, and the
loss of my identity and my family and friends and my male life, then I
would have grassed them up, but back then it was the worst thing of all to
grass up your best friends. So I put my bloodstained clothes in the dirty
wash basket and changed them, and tried to pretend that nothing was wrong.
What I didn't know was that somebody else must have seen something and
grassed up my friends. Somehow they suspected that it was me who told the
police about them, and so when they knew there was no getting out of this
with a telling off due to their age, they told the police that it was my
idea to kidnap and beat up the little girl and that I cut her throat with
the bottle. The police came to my house that night and arrested me for
murder. I sat there sobbing for hours, trying to tell them that I had
tried to save the girl's life but they didn't believe me. There was blood
on my clothes as my parents had not washed them yet, there were my
fingerprints on the bottle and because of the times I had been told off
for misbehaving earlier they thought I was the killer.
I remember the trial... the judge in his red robes and his long white wig,
the jury, all the people inside glaring at us, and those outside who
kicked the prison van on the way to court and would have lynched us if
they could. My lawyer did his best but the verdict was guilty and several
of the jurors cried as the verdict of guilty was read. The judge told us
that if we were adult defendants he would have handed down life sentences
with a minimum of forty years, and I had the feeling he would have hanged
us if he could. As it was he handed us a sentence of eight years youth
custody, followed if we had not reformed in that time by a second, adult
prison sentence. He lifted reporting restrictions so that the press was
able to report my name and face. Now things have changed and that could
not be done in a case like mine, but things were different back then in
1993.
The first year was the worst, away from my home, with guards who happily
reminded me of my crime and no doubt privately wished that they could beat
me for it. I was allowed no visitors but my family and most of them
thought I was guilty and didn't come to see me. Only my mother did, once a
week with two guards watching as we chatted for one hour a week. Phone
calls were not allowed. The only good thing was that the other prisoners
were scared of me and left me alone in case I beat them to death.
The next three years were a time of forced marches, guards shouting at me,
long hours behind bars, and a few secret fights with other prisoners,
which I managed to win, luckily for me. There was no real attempt made to
reform me, as it was the punishment phase of the sentence. After that
things changed. I was moved to a new prison and had meetings once a week
with mental health doctors and social workers that asked me why I
committed the crime and tried to rehabilitate me. I went on saying I was
innocent until I was hauled before the prison governor and warned that I
was well on my way to ending up being resentenced as an adult and spending
most of my life in an adult prison where I was informed that conditions
would be much worse.
After that I told them everything they wanted to hear, that I was heartily
sorry for the crime that I had committed and only wanted a chance to live
a law-abiding life. They must have believed my change in attitude for on
the day after my seventeenth birthday, I was called before a tribunal of
the Governor, a doctor and someone who refused to tell me who he was and
who I suspect was from the security services.
"We have good news and bad news for you," said the Governor. "The good
news is that we think you have been rehabilitated and can be set free
after a year more in prison. The bad news is that if you are allowed to go
free under your old name there are those out there who would hunt you down
and kill you. Either that or you would end up killing them and be facing a
murder charge again. We cannot let that happen. There are also those at
the highest level of government who are convinced that you would reoffend
and end up raping and maybe killing some girl who happened to cross your
path, or that you would have children with someone and then abuse them."
"Therefore, it has been decided that you will be released under a new
name... and as a woman."
"What? Why? No way!"
The doctor got up and spoke to me. "First, the vast majority of sex
offences and violent crimes are committed by males. Women do commit some
and the number is rising but is still nowhere near the male level, so you
would be less likely to reoffend. Second, it would prevent you, as you
would not be a genuine woman, from ever having children that you might
offend against or bring up badly. Thirdly, it will ensure that none of the
many vigilantes find you, as they will be looking for a male. Last of all,
since you murdered a girl, you can spend the rest of your life as one."
"What if I refuse point blank?"
"Then you will be taken back to court on your eighteenth birthday before
the same judge that sentenced you as a juvenile offender to be resentenced
as an adult. Life imprisonment that in practise will mean at least four
decades in an overcrowded stinking prison without rehabilitation and with
only rapists and other such criminals of your type, with next to no chance
of finding a job if you ever get out. You will be fifty-eight years old
before you get even a chance of parole."
I shuddered at the thought.
"I agree. What will it entail?"
"You will be transported today to a new faculty called The Meadowlands
Institute where you will have a whole year to find out what it will
entail." The guards were called and I was handcuffed and taken down to a
prison van and left alone with my thoughts.
Notes
1- I'm sorry that this part has very little TG in it except at the very
start, but I needed to set the scene first.
2- I doubt if it were real that the European Court of Human Rights would
allow anything like it, but as with nearly all CD stories, even the very
best ones, a little bit of disbelief needs to be suspended.
Vicky
- 22.03.2021
- 14
- 0
