Nightmare On Retibution Blvd. Self Flagellation Can Be Worse Punishment Than Society's Bars
Posted: Sunday, January 30, 2011
by Ella Camp
February 4th- 2003
The hours between 3 and 7 am, are the usual hours when Man's old nemesis, the nightmare, prefers to ride. It was then that this hauntingly familiar specter rode again, in break-neck speed through the terrain of his restless mind; in lacerating gallops, taking his nightly course of perpetual, unremitting torture. The dreamer's pathetic half-wakeful whispers begged an unknown god for respite; yet, like the scorching, never quenched fires of hell, the trammeling of this death-pale horse continued unabated; unaffected and deaf to his helpless pleas for mercy.
Dread of this reign of terror, did succor his mind's refusal to dare the dangerous portals of sleep; until drugged into submission by the alcohol and chemicals consumed in ever increasing daily abundance.
They were always the same- these prosecutors of suffering misery; the pale freckled face of the boy child- eyes staring in death transfixed shock through the windshield, now smeared with fractured rivulets of his blood, running through the spider-veined shattered glass;
the vision of his small, gangly pubescent limbs sprawled in grotesque mutilated perversion across the rain-slicked car hood.
Startled from the shallow dim glades of twilight sleep; the gut-wrenching scream stuck in his dry throat. He rose slowly from his recline, now a sweat-soaked bed of martyrdom, and shuffled into the blinding overhead light of the bathroom sink. As he gazed at the bloodshot, dull and puffy eyes staring back at him from the mirror, he once again asked the nightly question; was it just wishful thinking, or was he really dead this time?
With trembling, nicotine-stained fingers, he slid the worn and yellowed Houston Chronicle newspaper clippings from the bedside table drawer. One after the other, in rote redundancy, he read.
February 4th1995- driver sought in hit-and-run deaths of two 12 year old boys.
February 4th1996- Houston man arrested for 1995 hit-and-run deaths of 2 New Caney boys.
With wrenching force, his battered mind was dragged back to that alcohol and drug soaked night that had forever changed and destroyed his life, as it ended the youthful lives of the 2 boys he had struck and killed on that rain-slicked street 8 years ago. He reluctantly recalled the year following that tragic night; drug and alcohol dazed months of hiding- guilt-ridden promises to turn himself in, sloughed off in the trepidations, shame and fear of daylight.
Jagged, hazy memories barged relentlessly into his now frail and feeble mind. The day-long consumption of beer, whiskey and tequila, combined with forgotten amounts of cocaine, amphetamines and zanax, had rendered him helpless to control the actions of his mind and body.
He could only vaguely remember driving his car at an accelerated zigzag speed down the late evening streets that led from his girlfriend's condo, where only minutes before, he had engaged in a violent argument with her- during which, he had later been told, he had brutally and repeatedly struck her about the face and head with a steel lamp pole; resulting in her near death.
No memory remained of his first sight of the 2 boys; his first indication of them, the embedded nightmare sight of death-staring eyes in the windshield glass; and the bump, as the wheels of his car struck and rolled over the other. In drugged confusion and panic, he had raced to his ex-wife's nearby apartment- where he hid himself and his car for the next year.
The nightmares had begun then, in unrelenting nightly repetition- along with his inability to look into the face and eyes of his own 4 year old son. The steadily increasing crescendo of this merciless torment had brought relief at his subsequent capture and arrest; which had been facilated by observation of his much publicized car, by a sharp-eyed medical student resident.
The hand of the supernatural may be perceived in this fortuitous observation, as the unusually high winds on that day- one year to the date of the tragedy of February 4th, 1995- had blown back the cover that had hidden the car from view for the preceding year.
The accumulation of his oppressive sufferings had continued throughout the appallingly short prison sentence his expensive attorney had managed to wrangle from a skewed and corrupt justice system. They continued still, as the death-blinded eyes of his victim haunted his dreams and stared back at him from the face of his now 12 year old son.
In his wretchedness, he knew, in that place where we all know things, that this would be his life-long sentence of retribution- not the bars and locks that society metes out in punishment; but the undeniable scourge of the souls own self.
We called him Kevin J. Kevin Jason Jenkins; a grandson of precocious intellect he was- of the kind to incite the mind to the wonder of the "old soul" in the assumed form of youthful disguise.
"Immortal? Of course, who could doubt it of one such as he? But therein lies the crux of the pain- immortal away from me."
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Top-level comments on this article: (8 total)Incredibly written Ella. It had me in tears. He may have got a short prison sentence, but he will undoubtedly be serving a 'life' sentence. Isn't is something to think how many lives can be affected by one person's mistakes? Tragic.Sorry I'm so late in my responses....the faster I run- the behinder I get.....I thank you so much for taking the time to read this and respond- you're a generous and kind person---and a great writer and woman- to boot! Always- Ella
Nice. Intense. Interesting, appropriate selection of point of view. Not may like that on SearchWarp.Glad you read it Jack- the point of view was different ..I think.. Thanks- Always- Ella
Philosophically, I call it the wheel of time which churns man's brains to commit such an act. But it is the same time which makes him repent for it later. The pain created is too much and it takes a long time to heal. Nice expressions and very emotional. Thank you.DMAnd thank you DM- your articles help me in ways you probably don't imagine.........Always- Ella
Awesome article Ella! It was scary to see through his mind's eye. Thanks for writing this. LindaCouldn't have said that any better, Linda. It was scary. El's a giant of the mind.Oh, and a beautiful mind it is.The mind is a terrible thing to waste- and my mama taught me not to waste anything........Thank you so much - Always- EllaThanks Linda...lots of things in life are scary- aren't they? You're quite welcome......Always- Ella
You wrote this very powerfully, Ella. It's heart-rending, but very beautiful too. That grandchild is the old man's chance for healing, if he only could take it. When you say we called him Kevin J. Did this happen in your family?Thank you so much for reading Jenn- yes- Kevin Jason was my eldest grandchild....I have 6 others- for which I daily give humble thanks to God. Kevin's purpose here was finished- we've all, since his death, or the demise of his physical body, begun to realize, over time, what his reason and purpose was- what his being in our lives was supposed to mean to us all-......Always- Ella
You're a bloody poet.
I shall write one for you:
At a Grandson's Gravesite
I am one who cried
peeling onions
thinking,
Oh but to have such a sorrow
for all these tears..
At your gravesite, a stone blemish to youth
I cried as one who cannot understand
such grief.
You were my
early death.
you lived out your promise of a dozen years,
a reckless spiritual
blueprint,
or that other fool,
karma,
You left me alone
at supper,
to bleed to the edge of my plate.
I am one who
hates that tyranny
of Heaven,
learning lessons
that pierce the heart,
God angry without your arms
around me.
An evil one, behind the curtains,
who does finally show his true colors,
in such loss,
in such heartbreak.
Grief has no use for hidden meanings in sorrow.
You were young before you had lived, cheated even a baker's dozen years.
grandson.
your early death
which makes me cry.
shall have no dominion over you.
.Heart-crushingly poignant........the true beauty is in its depth.....so kind ...Thank you.- Always- Ella
I very much enjoy reading your writing .
Knock yourself out Dear.........
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