How To Screw The Screw That Screwed You

"Russell Martin is a dead man."

In my thirteen months of hell I probably said that five thousand times. Literally. Goddam thug hiding behind his guard's uniform. He's the fucking criminal and yet the world turns a blind eye. That says a lot about the world if you ask me. And even if you don't. I spent my private moments vowing my revenge over and over...

I'd catch him coming out of his house, coming up behind and putting a gun to his head. I'd take his car keys and cell phone and stuff him in the trunk of his own fucking car. Then I'd pull off my ski mask and drive with gloved hands to a pre-arranged place far into the woods. Next I'd handcuff and chain him to a tree - after taking his pants and underwear, leaving him exposed to whoever might find him. He's such a big fan of humiliation I thought he might appreciate that.

Then, I'd start to walk away. That's when the begging would begin. I can hear it now, "You can't do this! Don't leave me here! You just can't do this to people! I'll die!"

"Quit your bitchin'! You do the crime you do the time!"

"But I've never been convicted of anything!"

"I convicted you. Now I'm carrying out the sentence."

"Who are you to convict anyone? What did I ever do? Who are you to me?..."

Then it hits him. I'm a former prisoner. And he knows what that means. His abuse cannot be denied to me. That's when he falls into a familiar refrain.

"You people are animals! Only an animal would do something like this! This just proves what I've always said!"

His charges don't stick on me. I went in an innocent man. I came out a raging criminal. Russell wasn't the brightest bulb but he was cagey. He knew what line not to cross but he danced right up to it, inflicting his club with just the right amount of bruising. I was weak, an easy target - for everyone. I was put into the state's care but that turned out to be no care at all. Somebody has to pay.

Get this folks: I don't care why you fuck me, I just care if you fuck me. And those who know how to play the system never get theirs unless we apply the law of the jungle. An eye for a fucking eye. No one made you be a prick. That decision was completely your own. And I will be the instrument of God that strikes you down, making the world a safer place. I don't care if you dunces don't have the capacity to see that or not, I do. So I'm taking matters in my own hands since yours have proven incompetent.

This is when I use his very own words on the bastard. "Scream all you want! Nobody cares, nobody can hear you! Nobody listens to what a convict says. I own your ass! And whatever happens to your ass is what you got coming!"

I wonder if he'll have the nerve to say anything back to his own little infamous speech. If only you people knew what happens in the dark corners of the world where the likes of Russell Martin reside. Scum like him is what rots society from the inside out. I'm going to kill Russell Martin. I'm living for the moment I get to repeat his speech to him. I live to hear the sound of his hopeless wailing.

I'm not sure how it will work out after that. I'm thinking I'll leave him there a couple of days to soften him up. God, that will be sweet! The more he fights it the worse it is - just like in prison. Take the cup of bitterness and give them twice what they handed out says the good book. That's exactly what I intend to do.

Maybe I'll bring him food and water. He might slap it away with the injustice of it all. But as one who knows, pride is a diet most foul, spoiling the soul in sour rot. If I do let him live, he'll be a new man after tasting his own medicine of cruelty. No way will he be able to inflict pain without harkening back to his time tied to the tree, living completely at the mercy of the generosity of another human being. You want that generosity now don't you, you cocksucking motherfucker!

I have to admit, I don't appreciate having the path of my life altered like this, to clean up a mess not my own. But having been made aware of it what can I do? Just let this monster perpetuate his crimes for eternity? God might get him in the end but this is now and now is where we live. I for one am not for living in a fucking pigsty.

This I vow on this October day, prisoner 8936452, lying on my cot the last few hours before my release and coming pardon. Like Edmond Dantes of yore, I have been deemed to right the wrongs of our wretched planet.

********************

I had found the perfect location for the crucifixion. There were times I yearned to let it go, but I was not going to be lazy or shirk the duty God had tasked me with. Besides, whenever I tried to relax, the rage would come boiling up again, never giving me a moment's peace. I've got to get this over with if it's the last thing I do!

That's when I saw him, right in the middle of my rigid plans, sitting in the park slumped like a lost and sullen bum. Took me a double take or two convince myself it was him but when I saw the TDCJ logo on his cap I lost all doubt. If I'd had a baseball bat at that moment I'd have gone to town on him right then and there and been done with it. But that would be taking the easy way out, disappointing God in the lack of full measure of justice required.

But other voices spoke to me as well. "He's nothing now, he can't hurt you anymore. Look at him, the pathetic slut. I bet his family hates him."

I fought back. "Scratch him and you'll only find a stubborn will laced with a streak of cruelty from hell. That's what that man is, hell's portal to the world!"

"What is he now? What's he to you now?"

"Goddamit! I can't just think of myself. He's still hurting others. You know how much you screamed for help and no one would listen. You can't abandon those prisoners still under his thumb!"

"How is this making your life better?"

"It's not making it better, it's a pain in the ass!" That's when the whole thing starting feeling like a 16 ton weight on my shoulders.

"Let it go..."

"But, but..."

"Let it go."

After all the time wasted I just wanted to live. If I thought I could trust God to do anything I'd just walk right over and say hello in recognition of his presence. But that's just fucking insane!

And yet, that's what I found myself doing, watching my body move in the direction of his sorrowful park bench. What a disorienting experience that was. I'd never played the role of the bigger man before. Who am I? This has got to be some sort of aberration. I didn't even recognize my voice when I spoke in a tentative but friendly way.

"Hello, Russell Martin." A wry smile was on my face.

He was like a man disturbed from a deep slumber, not recognizing me at first. Then, the horror of the mirror. "I didn't know!" he needed to explain. "How could I know! You leave me alone!"

I stood undisturbed, absent of malice, letting him write his own script. That's the funny thing about guilt: it prevents you from doing the right thing. He could have apologized, made his peace with me and freed himself. Instead, he got up, carefully moving away like a cornered animal escaping a kill. What a curious play I did observe!

He made some hapless threats I don't remember now as mammoth waves of relief washed over me. I just remember this tiny little figure in the afternoon sun fleeing from me in dire consequence, looking back over its shoulder in fear. It too was curious to observe since I felt it truly had nothing to do with me.

One thing I do know - and did not fully realize again until that moment - is that once you start running from yourself, it never stops. The running takes over your life, swallowing up everything in its path, requiring ever more energy until you're all used up. Then I smiled a small smile and snorted at the irony. It was true after all: Russell Martin is a dead man.