50 Hours

By Marie Seltenrych

Three vulnerable middle-aged women long for a well deserved holiday. Each woman has her own agenda and all three are victims of drug handbag plants, resulting in meeting in rather uncomfortable circumstances - a Bali jail. Determined to get free, but with no-one to help, they decide to find their own way out! In the meantime, the least likely of the three, Miss Luba, outsmarts the warder and seems to have a slick way of gaining advantages that make her popular and a possible candidate for release.
The three share deeply as their release seems impossible and dark days roll on.
Hillarious in parts, with mixups of mind and actions.
Their feisty getaway is foiled and they must face their worst fears... In the nick of time someone speaks for their case and their hope is revived and their world is again turned topsy turvey. When they are transported to a different prison things get serious and they must make a decision to find a way out or face a firing squad. Each becomes more spiritual in the situation they face, but is this their last holiday in Hell and a promise of their true future? This was inspired by watching Absolutely Fabulous.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marie Seltenrych
• Release date: Dec 19, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458169556

Marie Seltenrych

I recently purchased new Photoshop Software, Elements 2021 and a second-hand Cintiq (Wacom). The picture on my profile is the first picture completed using these software products.I had unpublished this version of Runaway Princesses because of Kindle Unlimited rules (publish with Amazon only for 90 days and renew etc). I have now finished this process for the moment.It is very difficult for Indie authors to nagitate through all the pros and cons of different publishers online. We are buffeted from Billy to Jack, as the saying goes.Whilst I was creating the above picture (from scratch) I was disappointed to find my Elements Photoshop software crashing continually. It was another hurdle to overcome as an Indie Author who also creates her own book covers. I truly love to create my book covers and sometimes I have a book cover idea way before I have even begun to write the story nowadays. It must be the magic of creation and seeing the shapes and form evolving from simply scratching away with my Intuos pro pen. It is magical for me.I have also been trying to format the digital edition so that it displays correctly in EPub products, Kindle, and other places. Unfortunately these products have not cooperated together over the years, making life a little more disturbing for Indie digital artists.I hope it is a better product now to enjoy. As an Indie author and graphic artist, I do all this just for you, dear reader and those I call my followers. Thank you. MarieYou can find out more about my ideology on my webpage: https://www.runawayprincesses.com/contactOn a flight from Abu Dhabi to Manchester recently, I was asked by one of the attendants "How are you so intelligent?"[We had enjoyed a short chat during the landing process (near exits).]I replied, "I am old!", and laughed. With my 70th birthday pending, it was the first answer that came to my head. However, it was a bit of a shock to hear someone asking me such a thing as a stranger perceiving me as "so intelligent!"When we consider our lives, experiences, opportunities and setbacks, and take time out to ponder our way forward, we must see that our lives are a living organism shaping from day to day, adding and subtracting items of interest and value, to bring about the sum total of our comprehended being.Looking back over my long existence, I have learned a lot, and possibly forgotten more than I have retained. After all, our brain is a organic lump of matter that somehow cannot exist by itself for very long! It is like a director of an orchestra who has nobody to play any instrument. It is a useless effort to try and get one sound out without something responding. So while our life blood courses through our veins and our brain is working its work, we must try our best to get our thoughts out there into the world, scattered and maybe sometimes picked up by one or two persons who have a moment of inspiration, joy or contemplation.So, we work our work and let our creative juices flow as the saying goes. But it is more than creativity, it is contemplation, consideration, discussion, activity. Our whole lives are involved in our work as we dedicate ourselves to our task in hand.I have included some of the fringe accolades that I happened upon during my course of living, tokens of achievement that were always unexpected and appreciated. These are not listed to gain anything in particular, just a matter of fact that happened along the way of my life. The last thing I want is jealousy. Reader, never be jealous of another person's abilities, because your ability is equally astonishing when you ponder your own life and how it has evolved over the years you are alive. Jealousy is not a topic we often hear about, yet it is a lurking destructive possibility for any human being. We can all get caught up in forms of jealousy and must guard ourselves diligently on this matter. "I can do that!" or "That is nothing", are vital signs that we must learn to put down and change.However, a thought comes to mind that makes jealousy have another side to its coin. God is a jealous God and will not stand to have His creations bow to another. In other words, everything should be in its rightful place. God is justified in that God has the final say for all persons, even for those who cannot believe God even exists. (Theoretical, rational and knowledge based evidences)So, when you read my words and sometimes even pay a small price to download a copy, please be merciful and gracious. I have limited abilities, time and thoughts, but if I can share some with you for your benefit or for the benefit of those who listen to you, then I have done my job in this life. So, I write stories and dictate to my fingers what to say and do, to bring a new experience, a joy, a revelation or refocus to you, dear reader. To me, you are the first person I think about, yet I do not know your name. You are the one I want to hug, give encouragement and to show love, yet I have no idea who you really are, except that you exist and are present.If you leave my site with one new thought, fashion or change of plan for the better, then I am satisfied. Thank you for stopping by and for reading this message. One day we will meet in the future (Eternity) and everything shall be made clearer then. Until we meet, take care and remember to use your talents relentlessly while you are able, and never succumb to jealousy.[Marie has achieved many accolades for her volunteer work in her capacity as author, writer, teacher, and services to her community over many years. These are some of her noted achievements and awards:Certificate in Acting 1969; Bachelor of Ministries 2004.Experience: Stage production; Acting; Public speaking (motivational); Preaching (over 10 years); Worship leading (7 years);Teaching Religious Education (4 years); home schooling children (7 years); Editor of Newsletter (Slacks Creek 3/4) (7 years);Awards: Certification of Appreciation Cooinda House (2012); Certificate of Recognition Australian Blood Service (2012), signed by Jennifer Williams CEO; Certificate of Appreciation: Humpybong State School, (signed by Sam Knowles (Principal) and Ros Smith (President P & C) 2006. Certificate of Appreciation Underwood Neighbourhood Watch (2003) Silver Lapel Badge Award Slacks Creek 3/4 signedby Alex F. Erwin, Superintendent 1380, (2002). Merit Award, Writers World 1999. Certificate of Appreciation, Redeemer Lutheran college Middle School, 1999 (signed by J. Winslour (Head of Middle School) and W.J. Basrow (Librarian); Avon Team Leader Certificate 1999 (signed by Dianne Walsh District Sales Manager) ]Irish born Australian, Marie Seltenrych [nee Rafferty] began writing and drawing at age 4. During Summer holidays in her beloved Leixlip, she drew pictures and made comics with her beloved siblings, Dolores, Liam, Josephine and Raymond. Her youngest brother, Keith, (17 years her junior) has inspired her to write and has been one of her biggest encouragers. From crayon and pencil scribbles, she has gained skills and confidences to write, draw and publish short stories, children's stories, adult romance titles, an adult mystery, a play, a book on prophecy, a book on "How to do online publishing", various devotionals. Marie is also a poet (much to some people's surprise), and is always busy helping someone along the publishing journey. Her belief is definitely, "Love your readers"; "practice makes perfect;" "Pick up the pieces and move on" and "get the talent honed".Contact Marie [e-mail]

Book preview

50 HOURS

Love Lockdown

Marie

Seltenrych

©RUNAWAY PRINCESSES BOOKS AUSTRALIA

Copyright ©

Marie Seltenrych

2010 - 2021

https://www.runawayprincesses.com

Revised: 07/2021

ISBN:

Smashwords Edition, 2021©

© Runaway Princesses Books Australia

Print Edition

All rights reserved,

This is a work of complete fiction and any resemblances to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

2010 - 2021

Dedication:

To my sister who inspires me every day

Even though she is far away

Contents

Dedication: 

Prologue 

Foreword 

Chapter One: 

Chapter two: 

06:00 hours 

Chapter three 

09:00 hours: 

Chapter four 

12:00 hours: 

Chapter  five 

22:00 hours: 

Chapter  six 

36:00 hours 

Chapter Seven 

47:00 hours: 

Chapter eight 

50:00 Hours 

Author bio 

Acknowledgements:

Prologue

The cast of characters in 50 Hours took me on a journey into a place where angels fear to tread. It began as a challenge for NaNoWriMo Month contest and was actually completed in one month. However, editing a story takes a lot more time and effort later.

The story evolved because of current events at the time of writing that inspired me to bring characters from my own life and those in the media into one place and to allow the dangerous situation to evolve in order to bring an interesting story to the fore.

Foreword

This story is written from the author’s imagination and perspective, however, it appears to be somewhat of a premonition of what occurred to a convicted drug smuggler, in a culture where this happens regularly. The results are usually devastating. This tale brings new light into the darkness of being incarcerated.

Some of the premonitory scenes are unfathomable, and foretelling to actual events that did happen four years later. There is also an eerie mention of a deadly virus, (p77) ten years before the pandemic!

Dialogue also brings the reader very close to a spiritual reality that occurs in peoples’ lives, that brings another level of dynamic and interest to the story. It also has a humorous edge and a mystery solved.

Henry Seltenrych, (Reviewer) 2021

Chapter One:

00:00 hours:

Stinky, smelly, putrid! I’m sitting here in this dark, damp place somewhere in the outskirts of Denpasar. My ears are filled with the rumbling of thunder in the distance. I can feel little dribbles of perspiration rolling down my forehead and I try to brush them off. My hands are locked together and it proves quite a difficult manoeuvre.

My nose is filled with fumes and I can barely breathe. A constant dripping sound fills my eardrums and I refuse to open my eyes to see what surrounds me. My heart is beating like a heavy drumbeat. What has happened? What did I do wrong? I keep asking myself over and over again? Tears stream down my face like trickling water over a rugged mountain, their journey unchartered and dangerous. All I can do is reflect on why I ever came to Bali for a well deserved break. As I sit and wait for my tears to well up and dry, I try to come to terms with what has happened, and why?

Reflections: Here in this cell, I need to find a way to get away from this sordid place. My head is spinning and I am thinking of how this all began as a delightful dream holiday.

It all started with my sister, Annabelle, well with her husband, Albert. He ran off with a floozy a few years ago. At first I thought that she was Polish, but then I found out that she was a Pole dancer at a club in France somewhere, at a place called Minx Pony. I had heard about the Minx Pony. She did in fact abandon her Minx Pony job to join Albert Bright, who to me is very dim. Why she would link up with an old fogey is a mystery, but he was in the money quite a bit, shares, investments in property and businesses made him quite rich, very rich I think. I never discussed the details before their divorce. My sister mentioned several pies in which he had his chubby fingers, including an international shipping company. Maybe he shared some of his private international information with the pole dancer from the Minx Pony? I know from watching a documentary about the Minx Pony that the women get a job for life and they are never touched by the men attending. I don’t understand how Albert Bright got his hands on her? Maybe they met at a cafe when he was on business? I remember when I was plotting my trip to see the UK. I rang my sister from my Australian location, who informed me that he was away on some European business trip. Did he stop for a few days in Paris? Yes!

I shiver and notice something black crawling on the wall. I am sure it’s a scorpion, those horrid spider-like arachnid. It disappears into the darkest corner and disappears.

Just like Albert!

For years he had been cheating, slithering through dark places, that’s my view of his sordid character, but of course he was the absolute model of discretion and my sister was totally a believer in him. He became a convincing liar, until the day she found them in her bed. She had gone out to visit a friend who lives about half an hour away from where they lived. Half way there she returned home to pick up a book she promised her friend. She told me that when she came into the house by the back door and raced upstairs to get the book, she found Albert and Lubochka in the raw, in their marital bed. They tried to say it was an impulsive action, a mistake! After that she did her own investigations and found that he had been unfaithful to her for months already with this woman. She even found that he put money into Lubochka’s account regularly, under various names in strange languages. When she confronted him, he said that Lubochka’s family had urgent needs and he was trying to help her. I, for one, was relieved for Annabelle when the divorce finally settled, as this new family seemed to be draining Annabelle’s soul and their joint bank account!

Lubochka Gogo, she called herself.

Her real name was Lubochka Govnia, so my sister discovered on an envelope she found in the yard when she visited to sort out ‘International liaisons’ with Albert. When she appeared on the scene, he had umpteen trips to Europe. She found credit card payments for flights to Europe, France, Russia and Hungary. She was shell-shocked and has taken four years to get over it, if she ever will.

We were to have a beautiful, adventurous holiday, with nothing but soft breezes and silky sand for company.

What happened to Albert? He went to live in Budapest with Lubochka but soon returned to the UK, after the relationship dissolved, or the money was gone, whichever came first. He needed Annabelle, and not just her nice knickers! He wanted another slice of the assets they had divided. My sister has a canny knack of knowing how to make money grow through investments. She is also a typical Scot, frugal.

I notice a bucket in the corner, metal of some kind. I believe this might be my toilet. The thought of this object being a substitute for my beautiful white egg shaped toilet languishing at home makes my throat gag. It looks like something recycled from a dump. Oh, dear God, save me, I cry deep inside.

Annabelle recycles everything, except her husband! He sent her flowers, chocolates, but she would not budge.

I advised her: Once bitten, twice as shy… She finally forced a settlement for good. he seemed to take my advice. I believe that he would have used her and gone astray, double-dipping into the family’s coffers. In the divorce report he said that she had ‘nagged him continually’ the ultimate reason for a divorce! Did she have a reason to nag?

Now my head is aching, a nagging ache as I ponder what on earth I am doing in this dump. Am I a lunatic to be captured and caught like a rabbit in a snare? What decisions can I make now? Why is Albert coming to my thoughts, rat that he is and always will be?

Lubochka Gogo, I believe, did return to the Minx Pony, so maybe she was young, waiting for another unsuspecting old fogey to stop by, when she might give him a wink, meet as a side dish and there go the goodies, and the inheritance! Away she goes again, trips abroad and family support and God only knows how many disasters she can clock up in one season. If my sister and her husband had just continued in a happily ever after marriage, it is unlikely we would be meeting here for our fantasy holiday! Can a fantasy turn into a nightmare? Yes, resoundingly yes! I have nobody to speak to. Am locked inside a strange cell without sight of sign of another human. How inhumane can this be? I lean against the putrid wall and hope that little scorpion does not fall on top of me. I shiver and long for a nice long drink, anything wet for my parched tongue. Champagne would be nice…

For my 50th birthday, James, my hubby, said I should go and see my sister. He though it was time for us to get together after five years apart. My sister and I decided to meet in Bali. Now, I am totally sure it was the wrong decision. I had given up my full time work as a personal assistant to a Real Estate Manager just over six months ago. I used some of my superannuation to come to Bali. If I had stayed in work I would not be here. If she had stayed in the child care industry, we would not be here. All these ifs and buts are piling up against me now. I wish I had continued to work more than anything right now. I actually enjoyed my work, bossing people around, being important. Where are they now? Where are my buddies? My friends, anyone? Work is good, certainly better than sitting in a Bali jail. Where are my children now? My childhood memories flood past my thoughts in a weird fashion. Was I too rebellious for this world?

Please tell me if you know of any child that is not rebellious? If we are honest we will find that old rebellious tiger within ourselves.

Back to the present as it looms here:

I can hear voices coming closer. Sweat pours from my head and I feel nauseous.

Up, up, I hear a loud command. My eyes are sticky and I feel like a criminal as I struggle to my feet, snagging my heel in the hem of my stupid 60’s floral skirt.

Am I an MI-5 agent or what? Can’t they tell I’m a peace loving, flower-child baby boomer who hates conflict and will do anything to foster peace? I feel more like a drunk as I try to stand up with dignity, even as a rough hand grips my arm.

I am confronted by a brown, shimmering face with a black moustache, the deepest brown eyes I have ever seen, and black animated eyebrows.

His English is akin to a foreign language. It reminds me of my Charismatic Christian friends who speak in tongues! I have no idea what they are saying and I doubt if they know what they are saying half the time. One thing, it is definitely a language of sorts. But, this is English?

Yes, I say, just to appease the situation, nodding my head and before his eyes pop out of his head altogether.

What have I said, ’yes’ to?

Maybe it’s the death penalty. All my fancy thoughts about the world and peace have flown out the window of my soul. I am marched down a hallway, through a heavy door, armed with two soldiers, and into an air-conditioned room.

Ah, this is more civilised , I am thinking. Maybe they have found out that I am not a criminal and I can go shopping! I must stay calm, positive, and never ever lose my sense of humour, that’s my resolve. I stand with my hands bound and wait. I take a deep breath of the fresh air conditioned air. Immediately I feel refreshed and that creepy feeling in my hair seems to be fading. Cold kills certain bugs and I have a few rambling through my hair. I ask to visit the ladies room and they agree, surprisingly!

The handcuffs are released, allowing me to enjoy a welcome relief. My wrists are sizzling with joy.

I see the bathroom has only one tiny window and give up on the idea of escaping. I return to the office. The guard replaces my cuffs and goes outside the door on the far side of the room. I am alone. I catch a glimpse of a polished boot, not moving, so I know I am being guarded. What a pathetic little scene, a dyed red-haired pathetic female, a long skirt, flabby belly, runny eye makeup, one heeled shoe, hands held with steel clamps. Now being guarded by a man with boots so polished they could be used as a mirror and a body so toned that he could be in a Terminator movie. My lips are parched.

What do they think I am going to do? Run away. I have no idea where I am. I have bad directional senses at any time, but when I have been taken by force from a bright, happy airport, with humming voices, into the back of a vehicle that has no windows and driven to a place that looks like a stage setting from a Ben Hur movie, I am totally lost.

I have algophobia. I hate pain and will do anything to avoid it.

How my mindset is wandering with thoughts of pain, as I try to wiggle my fingers to stop them from going numb. Will I lose my hands from this episode, before I lose my head? Pain. I had one toothache for 48 hours. It was totally unbearable. Even then I never touched drugs harder than paracetamol! I just could not find a dentist to help me. I was so desperate.

Has my life to now simply been about training to bear pain? Now my wrists are hurting, constantly throbbing with an insatiable ache that will not go away, will not give birth. Is this an echo of pain to come very soon? How horrific that thought is. I wish I was back in my old world, toothache and all.

Two men stand over me.

I just stare at them with a hint of sadness in my face. Maybe they have a bone of compassion somewhere inside their nearly trimmed moustaches and thick, straight eyebrows and puppy-dog eyes?

I need an interpreter, I say in