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Punishment © |
| Written by r.e.potter | |
| Wednesday, 20 August 2008 | |
The sunlight was already shining through the small window when I awoke; and it cast a shadow of four bars on the floor, a site I have grown accustom to. As I swing my feet around to the floor I look down at the shadowy figure then gaze upon the window above whose world beyond has become but a simple memory. Memories of a time when I was free to choose and free to live, a freedom I chose to throw away. I walk over to the makeshift toilet in the corner of my cell and take a piss. Then rub my face and feel the hardness and toil that prison life has caused. I want to look, but there's nothing in my room except the chrome water handle on the pisser to reflect the ugliness that I know would now stare back at me. I've gazed into the handle before but its hard to make anything out from it. It only seems to disfigure my face even more so, but then what's the point. I look around my cell and chuckle sarcastically at the situation I have put myself in. Looking back towards the toilet I push down the handle and flush away the stench from my dark yellow piss. I then move back to my bunk and lay down again. It's been the same routine everyday, and tomorrow will hold no promises. Because you see... today is the day of my execution.
I have no one to blame for my predicament, not even my parents, who doctors and other officials often lay burden on. No, my parents loved me very much and gave me ample opportunity for quality education and life style. No it was I alone who put me here. The first time I experienced a death at my hands was an accident. My friend and I were using the means of suffocation as a way to get a new kind of high. The idea was to take a long drag from a joint of pot and hold it just seconds before blacking out. With the help of a plastic bag we would wait for the signal then remove the bag quickly from around the head. It was a high unlike any we had ever known, until the day when my friend didn't recover. The officials got it right however, it was just an accident. But I discovered a new kind of high that day, a high that would consume me in the years ahead. At twenty years old and no desire to continue school I dropped out of the University and started working at my uncle's metal shop; it was a craft that came easy to me. As a boy, I would often spend my days hanging around his shop. Even though I'd spend most my time playing with the dogs outside I'd find myself at times lending a hand, and while doing so picking up pieces of the trade. But as the years past and no real friends to speak of I had become an introvert hiding in my home. Hiding from an isolated world that I had no desire to be part of. It seemed my only desire was that which was consuming my thoughts everyday. The feeling I had when I was standing over my friends' body, and I knew I had to satisfy those feelings again.
My first victim was a thirty year old school teacher whom with everything she had fought back, and while doing so broke two of my fingers. But with each new murder I became more efficient and found them more satisfying, and because of this I knew I couldn't stop. As the years went on I had become known in my area and throughout the United States as ‘The Shenandoah Strangler,' the area in which my victims would be found. I had become a serial killer, and my just punishment which was handed down to me is now at hand, and rightfully so. The day has turned into night and I'm only hours away from my death. They serve me Steak and potatoes. The last meal from my request. The taste of real food makes me realize even more of what I've thrown away. A tactic I now believe is used on purpose to aide in the punishment. But still, I devour every bit and wash it down with the beer I also received from that order. I send the tray and cup back out the slot from which it came. I then sit back down on my bunk to wait further detail, and then it arrives; the hour has come upon me.
My door slides open and along with two armed guards a man of God appears and enters. It's a formality the state requires. I myself have never come to know God. As a youth growing up my mother would often take my sister and me to Sunday School. It was a place I had many friends and many fine times. But it was also a place I grew tired of and so never returned. But regardless of my time spent at church, I fell away from the belief that a God even existed. A belief now that has haunted me up to this very moment. As the Priest opens his bible he delicately places the tassel that now hangs in place as a page marker. He then makes the sign with a cross that hangs with a silver chain around his neck. As he kisses it he quietly mumbles a gentle prayer as he lays the wooden cross back against his chest. I listen to his prayer and then ask for forgiveness for my sins of those whose lives I have destroyed. He looks at me with unbiased love and informs me that only God alone can forgive, and I wonder at this time if it's now too late for even God to forgive. The guards now motion with their arms for me to begin movement from my cell, and I do so willingly. I step to the other side of the cage I've called home for what seems an eternity, but I know eternity is what awaits me.
I begin moving down the poorly lit hallway with my hands and feet now bound by shackles. The other inmates remain silent as I pass by. A code of respect those on death row have developed to show support. But as I pass I see the look of sorrow and fright in their eyes from knowing their day will soon come, and I realize the code is no more than a gesture used to cover-up their silent whimpering. I enter a room where I'm prepped for my electrocution. A guard begins to shave my head void of any hair. He does so with surgical gloves as if I'm a diseased maggot, and perhaps I am. I put up no resistance and let them prepare me as they will. I have no say in this fate, and oddly enough I'm anxious to begin and end this night.
I'm now moved to the chamber of justice. A name we inmates have come to call it and placed in my chair of death and strapped in. I look out to the selected who have been invited here to witness this procedure. Mostly members from the families of my victims, but also some from the press and cities offices as the state requires. I have many regrets, but none I can offer them so I remain silent when they ask for final words. The tension in my mind begins to mount and I'm only seconds away when my heart begins to race. I understand now at this moment what my victims had felt as they were fighting for their last breath. My hands squeeze the end of the chair as I brace for the jolt, and then it comes. The surge of justice moves through my body like a million knives and I'm frozen with pain. I long now for death to come and relinquish my suffering. But before death comes to claim me, images of those I've murdered flash before me and the hardships and sorrows that their mothers, fathers and children who were left behind had to endure fill my heart. At that second before my death I see God, a God I never knew for what he really is... love.
The sunlight was already shining through the small window when I awoke; and it cast a shadow of four bars on the floor, a site I have grown accustom to. As I swing my feet around to the floor I look down at the shadowy figure. I then hang my head and start to cry. For another day has befallen me and I now know that hell has many levels of punishment. So with that I know that I'm to live each day throughout eternity the same; with the shame of my deeds and the regret of never knowing God during my stay on Earth. R.E.Potter
Copyright 2008 r.e.potter |
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