Ravaging Punishment

I stand atop my carnage, licking the inside of my lip with joy. The motionless body lays on the tile draining, rivers of blood at a time.. I grab her leg and drag her to the back door. I continue to drag her so I can throw her in the garbage. Without being noticed. Unfortunately I hear sirens..

Her consisting nagging brought me over the edge. Maybe it wasn’t completely her fault. It felt like it to me though.. Perhaps it could be my addiction.. I know for certain she deserved what she got.

I was almost to the trash chute until a cop car parked beside me. He opened the door and stared into my dead eyes. “Sir what is-“He reaches for his gun, the urge to lick my lip intensifies. I reach for the knife in the hem of my jeans. I pull it out slashing randomly. Luckily one cuts the officer’s throat cleanly like lightning. The oozing, warm, blood runs down his entire body. Collapse. He falls to the ground. As if a guilty pleasure I lick my gums searching for the addictive white powder. After the sweet rush of feeling buzzes through my body I take the girl and the officer to the chute. Throwing them into the pit. I never hear an ending to their fall. After a moment to catch my thoughts from flying away, I pace back and forth. To and fro. Until I finally catch a thought from the air.

Driving with an intoxicated instinct I take on the highway.. Sirens sounding. Eye of the Tiger on the radio. Sucking on the tips of my fingers, as if there was barbecue sauce on them. The petal hits the metal. I reach home within 10 minutes. I park the car and rummage through its contents. Through the expedition I find 3 shooters, a gun, and a brochure to drug awareness campaign. How irony bites like a ravenous dog, it makes me smile every time. I down the shooters, throw the gun in the passenger seat, and rip the helpless brochure.

I enter my home in disgust. I live in a rundown ranch, 2 bedrooms lay to the left of the entrance and a stairway to the basement on the right. If you walk further into the home you will find a living room with a old square block TV. Next to the living room is a kitchen that might possibly be from the 60’s. The house is desolate and dry like a desert. I travel down the hall looking for an oasis. My mouth is parched, every inch of my tongue is dying for at least a drop of water. I finally find it! I clamber to the sink and take a long needed drink. The water however flushes the succulent powder out of my gums. My first instinct is to search for more, but a deep cough hits me. One that brings me to my knees. Repeatedly I cough and cough as more red liquid comes from my mouth splattering onto the kitchen floor. Is it time for me to take my rightful seat in hell? I fall onto my back. The room turns to black..

The blanks of my life become clear to me once again. I lived in a tiny town in my youth. A town split in half by a long unwavering street. The street divided the town. I rested on the South side, forever reaching for the North. My father was the reason for never reaching that side however. He was a smart business man but never good at the whole people thing. Resulting in the bankruptcy of his American Dream. The incident sent him to an awakening, the awakening of a cruel man. A single word from his mouth, if said correctly, was like taking a knife dipped in kerosene to your chest. The second word would start a fire, burning the path the knife had drawn. Never a physically abusive dad but a mentally abusive one instead. He convinced me Love is crap only for women, no man actually loves anything unless its beer and booze. From then on I fell in “love” with alcohol. I stayed late at the bar in my early 20’s. Listening to the Eagles play on the jukebox, putting me in a happy mood. Unfortunately for me since I never had experienced love before I thought drunkenness was love. The more I drank the more “love” I felt. Eventually around 25 I didn’t feel the love from alcohol anymore and needed something to bring me love. I found it. One night I sat at the bus stop needing a breath after a heavy night of drinking. I just bought a bag of heaven from a man on the corner; he claimed it would take the hellish thoughts and drown them out. I sit examining the contents when a man at the age of 33 sits by me. “Sir”. He stares into my eyes deeply as if we have met before. He wears a suit that fits almost perfectly. The bow-tie is a memorizing purple color. “Don’t take that”. He points to the bag with his long slender finger. “That will take you down a tainted path, few come back from”. His beard shakes with every word he says as if it is the Earth and his words are Quakes shaking it. “Sir just take my for it and don’t take that”. His flowing hair drifts with the wind. I say back to him “Why can’t I?”. I look up to stare into his eyes but he is gone… Thus my addiction was born.

As days turn into weeks and months turn into years I finally turn 28. My life is like a cyclone blowing apart the importance and significance from me. At least I felt good. The high feeling felt like a candle. Burning steadily. The aroma rises up putting me into a sphere of gladness. One in which killed me slowly but felt amazing. There was a couple times where I could have escaped the fake bubble of happiness. It felt like however when I wanted to pop the bubble it wouldn’t and when I didn’t want it to pop it popped all the time. My most vivid memory of trying to escape was last year. I was sitting on my bed adding a fresh white layer to my gums. I then hear a knock on the door. I open the door to the same man at the bus stop. He had come to me again, he was handing out bibles. “Well hello again” he stares at me, right into my eyes. “I see you went down that path… do you need help?”. “ No! Get out! You don’t know me or my life!” I slam the door in a bitter spite. Contemplating. Thoughts of leaving this path strike me but I end up following what I already know. I sit and lick the inside of my mouth, gingerly.

As time progressed on, my life went further and further down the hill. Some luck finally came my way however because I was offered a job. It came from an old family friend but it was a job. Sadly however another sorrowful time of my life enters.. This one was short, dark, and bloody.

It all started one night as we were closing the shop. The girl I work with during that dreadful night, would not shut up. Nagging persisted like a drill going deeper into my head. Thump, Thump, Thump. She is really putting a number on me. The decision to make her taste her own medicine is caught into the web of my brain. As if I was in a trance, I stand straight up. Walk gently to the knives. Grab the longest and most slender of them. The knife was so elegant. Gorgeous. I was going to add some color. She kneels in front of me wiping the wall. It was almost like a sacrifice.. A slow small smile creeps upon face as I raise the knife. It hits its highest point, no where else to go but down. Gravity does its work for me.. The knife plunges into the back of her skull. She falls backwards onto my legs. The disgusting body now lay against me. My hatred is not finished. I kick the body away. Continuing to thrash with the knife. The frustration leaves my body. I stand atop my carnage licking the inside of my lip with joy.

I awaken to the sound of humming. I am now on my bed laying on my stomach. When I finally open my eyes I see a man sitting on a stool watching over.. not watching but protecting me. “Who are you?” The man stood walked over to me and said “I am Jesus” I hear the few words and feel the rage stab my heart. “I’ve never had any sort of religious background or influence in my life, now you decide to come, why did you choose to come into my life now?” Jesus stands, goes into my tiny elf sized kitchen and grabs a glass of water and one of my mom’s old records from the living room. “I am like this glass and this record. This record has been in your family for your whole life correct?” He holds the old eagles record and and looks for my acknowledgement. I nod in response. “I have also been there in all of your life.” He then takes the glass filled with water “Now this water would be yours, since you are paying for it, correct?” I again nod in agreement. “If i try to give it to you would that be right?” I say “No, because it’s my water.” Jesus starts again “Then you may only reject this water. You cannot accept something that is already yours. That is the same for me. My love has been in your life the entire time and is yours like your record but you have rejected it many times never accepting it. Like this water.” I didn’t believe it. “When were you ever there for me? In my darkest moments I had no one, not even you.” A smile grows upon Jesus’s mouth “I am of course there during your darkest times. I come more vividly in those times actually. But when people get in that state, it gets so dark they don’t even see me. If you think about it the thought of me will come to you.” Looking back I see myself sitting on the bench. That man… he was… Jesus… He was in my life…! He was also handing bibles at my apartment! Jesus was there at my darkest times. “Now that you have me in your life, anything is possible.” He then takes the glass of water and takes a drink. While he does the water changes into wine! “It was too dark to see you Jesus, I am sorry for all the evil I have done, can you forgive me?” He sets down the drink, smiles and says “You’re forgiven and loved my son.”

I wake in a sweat. I was dreaming from when i pasted out. That dream just wow… That changed my life but not as much as when I heard Knock Knock. I go to answer the door to be confronted by three police officers, armed and on the verge of firing. “Sir you are under arrest.” After my dream though I let them take me without a fight or running attempt. The cuffs dig deep clenching the bones in my arm. I then am shoved into the cop car. The next part of my life was a blur of great memories. That’s a funny thought considering I just got arrested. But in that time I found Jesus, I proclaimed his love to unbelievers, and was forced to stop my addiction. My favorite part of my imprisonment was my cell. My bared window had a perfect view of the sun rising upon the green outstretching hills. I was able every morning to watch the beautiful sun rise. Every time I do I am reminded of my Savior and how he rose for me. A funny Christian question I like to ask people is “How many nails held Jesus to the splinter filled cross?” None. He held himself up there, he could have gotten down at anytime but he loved me and the whole world so much that he stayed up there. Passively. Now that I understand that, I lay on my belly staring through that window knowing that Jesus is guiding me. I his seed, He my farmer, going through life, sowing his love.