upcoming execution seem more important. At the end of the day, however, Gazade's just a brute. I'm far more interesting.
Dr. Alice Huston
Maybe I'm being a little morbid, but when I set off for work the following morning, I decide to take a little detour past Saddleworth prison. I guess I just want to see the scene on the morning of the famous execution; I just want to be a part of history, and to be a little closer to the man himself.
As expected, there are lots of people outside the prison gates already. In fact, it's almost as if the whole town has come to maintain a grim vigil, and there are several large coaches parked nearby, evidence that people are coming from far afield to witness the scene. Some people are holding placards, of course, either supporting the decision to execute Sam Gazade or, in a few cases, decrying the death penalty as barbaric and inhumane. It seems as if everyone has an opinion on Gazade's fate. Everyone except me, anyway; the truth is, I have no idea what I'd do if I was in charge of the decision, and although I can see both sides of the moral debate, I find it impossible to come down firmly in favor of one option or the other.
Even though I know I should keep going, I find myself compelled to park up for a while and observe the mayhem. Getting out of my car, I wander along the grass, mingling with the protesters. Lined up near the main gate itself, representatives from all the major news networks are frantically talking to their viewers at home, broadcasting the latest news - or non-news, since there have been no developments for hours - direct to front rooms around the world. It's crazy to hear the incessant gabble of all these so-called journalists, although I have to admit I'm a little impressed by their ability to keep talking even when there's really nothing to say.
"Millions of people across the globe are counting down the hours until legendary serial killer Sam Gazade is put to death at midnight tonight," one of the female reporters is saying as she stares at the camera. "Some protesters, however, are calling for the execution to be put on hold, pending last-minute court challenges and an attempt to have Gazade reassessed by a team of psychiatrists. We'll have the latest on those challenges, plus an exclusive interview with some of the key figures in the original investigation that caught Sam Gazade all those years ago."
"Civil liberties groups are calling for Sam Gazade's death penalty to be commuted to life imprisonment," says another reporter, just a few feet away. "So far, however, sources within the governor's mansion indicate that there's little to no chance of Gazade being granted a reprieve. Meanwhile, sources close to Gazade's former legal team say that contrary to online rumors, their client has not given any indication that he plans to launch a last-minute appeal. The matter might be out of his hands, however, as three of the nation's largest civil liberties groups are believed to be working together to put together an eleventh-hour legal challenge. Stay tuned for more news."
Wandering through the crowd, I find myself getting lost in the melee. There must be three or four hundred people here, so I can only imagine how many will have gathered by the time midnight comes around. It's almost as if the place has become the site for some kind of murder-themed festival. There are vans parked nearby, selling burgers and other food, and a couple of enterprising souls have come down to sell a variety of t-shirts and other items linked to the case. For some reason, I find myself making my way over and paying five dollars for a mug with Gazade's original mugshot plastered on the side; it's not until I've paid and turned to walk away that I realize I was almost on autopilot. Looking down at the mug, I honestly can't imagine what possessed me to buy such a hideous thing.
"Can I get a quote for my podcast?" asks a voice nearby.
Turning, I find that a teenager wearing a Judas
Dr. Alice Huston
Maybe I'm being a little morbid, but when I set off for work the following morning, I decide to take a little detour past Saddleworth prison. I guess I just want to see the scene on the morning of the famous execution; I just want to be a part of history, and to be a little closer to the man himself.
As expected, there are lots of people outside the prison gates already. In fact, it's almost as if the whole town has come to maintain a grim vigil, and there are several large coaches parked nearby, evidence that people are coming from far afield to witness the scene. Some people are holding placards, of course, either supporting the decision to execute Sam Gazade or, in a few cases, decrying the death penalty as barbaric and inhumane. It seems as if everyone has an opinion on Gazade's fate. Everyone except me, anyway; the truth is, I have no idea what I'd do if I was in charge of the decision, and although I can see both sides of the moral debate, I find it impossible to come down firmly in favor of one option or the other.
Even though I know I should keep going, I find myself compelled to park up for a while and observe the mayhem. Getting out of my car, I wander along the grass, mingling with the protesters. Lined up near the main gate itself, representatives from all the major news networks are frantically talking to their viewers at home, broadcasting the latest news - or non-news, since there have been no developments for hours - direct to front rooms around the world. It's crazy to hear the incessant gabble of all these so-called journalists, although I have to admit I'm a little impressed by their ability to keep talking even when there's really nothing to say.
"Millions of people across the globe are counting down the hours until legendary serial killer Sam Gazade is put to death at midnight tonight," one of the female reporters is saying as she stares at the camera. "Some protesters, however, are calling for the execution to be put on hold, pending last-minute court challenges and an attempt to have Gazade reassessed by a team of psychiatrists. We'll have the latest on those challenges, plus an exclusive interview with some of the key figures in the original investigation that caught Sam Gazade all those years ago."
"Civil liberties groups are calling for Sam Gazade's death penalty to be commuted to life imprisonment," says another reporter, just a few feet away. "So far, however, sources within the governor's mansion indicate that there's little to no chance of Gazade being granted a reprieve. Meanwhile, sources close to Gazade's former legal team say that contrary to online rumors, their client has not given any indication that he plans to launch a last-minute appeal. The matter might be out of his hands, however, as three of the nation's largest civil liberties groups are believed to be working together to put together an eleventh-hour legal challenge. Stay tuned for more news."
Wandering through the crowd, I find myself getting lost in the melee. There must be three or four hundred people here, so I can only imagine how many will have gathered by the time midnight comes around. It's almost as if the place has become the site for some kind of murder-themed festival. There are vans parked nearby, selling burgers and other food, and a couple of enterprising souls have come down to sell a variety of t-shirts and other items linked to the case. For some reason, I find myself making my way over and paying five dollars for a mug with Gazade's original mugshot plastered on the side; it's not until I've paid and turned to walk away that I realize I was almost on autopilot. Looking down at the mug, I honestly can't imagine what possessed me to buy such a hideous thing.
"Can I get a quote for my podcast?" asks a voice nearby.
Turning, I find that a teenager wearing a Judas
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