Pyestock Diaries

A shout echoed up from the darkened depths: “OUCH! Fuck!” At the same time, I was crouching on a metal catwalk, thirty feet high, viewable to all and sundry. The shout below punctured the silence like a scream.

If I wasn’t nervous before, I was now. Had any security guards patrolling the area heard that noise? We had already spooked ourselves silly believing we’d heard someone walking around. In that instance, we were able to conceal ourselves. But now, I was totally exposed, crouching on an overhead gantry and any guard walking past the opening of the building could casually pick me out instantly. The shouting definitely wasn’t helping.

Cell 3 from the first floor walkway looking west. I was further along when Tom shouted. 24|06|06 © Simon Cornwell 2006