Between Hope and Nowhere

As if it were an invitation into my consciousness the bus driver bellows, “All aboard!” I exhale one last drag off my cigarette, take a deep breath, and start up the steps into the bus. With every step I ponder a different moment in my past, present, and future. My past was filled with a bible thumping, prone to incest, small town, and deranged type of father. This is one of the reasons for my impending vengeful rage that will soon be unleashed. My recent present is getting discharged from the Navy. Yeah, that was an absolute trip, me a small town kid from Artesia, NM, making his way to the depths of the ocean onboard a nuclear powered fast attack submarine. Walking past the people who have found their seats I can’t help but take a quick inventory of the type of characters that will be sharing this ride. There is the harmless old couple at the front of the bus. About midway sits a beautiful brunette around 30 with her 5 year old son. Finally I start to reach the rear of the bus when I notice a middle aged balding white man sitting next to a 10 year old girl. She looks like the sadness in her heart could bring angels falling to the earth so broken that the spot where they fell would leave a 6 foot blood pool while exploding feathers make their way back to heaven. I have seen that look before in my sister’s eyes. Hence the hatred I have for the man I will definitely make pay. Dear old dad. I come to find my seat that is across the aisle from a guy my age, about 25. He looks just as thrilled as me to be taking a bus from Charleston, SC to New Mexico, yuck. He looks up at me and asks, “So, where are you from?” I laugh on the inside when I realize the actual geographical location. Artesia is south of Roswell between two towns called Loco Hills and Hope. I look at him, smile, and say, “I’m between hope and nowhere.” There is another burning hatred for two cranked out idiots that decided to brutally murder my Grandfather for nothing more than the money in his pockets and his guns. They currently reside in a New Mexico prison but vengeance will surely find a way. My departed Grandfather from my mother’s side was one of those easy going, quick to laugh, party type of grandpas. He was spending his retirement years in the Gila Wilderness region of New Mexico. A man with a modest but plentiful retirement decided to spend his last days in a little tow trailer on a big plot of land. I guess it must have been the mix of Indian and pioneer that drove him to wide spaces with few if any people. I would like to think that the recent visions and dreams I have been experiencing are some sort of spiritual guidance from Grandpa. It started when I was under the ocean in that hell of steel and stench of man. I was asleep when a dream got my blood to pumping. The dream was of a warrior brave on bare back horse. It was a beautiful white horse as tall and strong as the man who rode him. The brave had war paint in blood red fashioned in a hand print on one side of his face. His long jet black hair had a leather band holding it tightly against his head smartly parted down the middle. There were extensions of leather from the band that were adorned with three black and white feathers. The brave looked at me with an intensity that would bring out the adrenaline in a corpse. As my heart began to race like the thundering hooves of a thousand horses, the brave held up his beautifully adorned spear and bellowed a war cry that sent the birds fluttering wildly. It tapped into my spine like a jolt from an electrified spirit possessing my body. At that moment I woke to four Sonar Techs trying to hold me down and force a hazing ritual on me that involved mummification by duct tape. I had heard of these rituals and was well aware of the humiliation and pain. Something of that dream and the brave with his war cry had me well prepared for the occasion. I experienced something supernatural. My strength was that of four men. How perfect, I guess the odds were even at that point. I kicked off the two guys at my feet. The two at my arms found themselves smashing their heads together in a bloody kiss. Luckily it knocked them out and by the time the guys that I kicked off got around to come back at me, I had found my hands around a fire extinguisher that cracked them both across the jaw in one fail swoop. There was never any report of the incident because to do so would mean incriminating themselves for hazing. There was a lot more respect for the new guy from Artesia after that. Since that incident there was no doubt in my mind that I finally had me a spirit guide and hopefully my guide would see me through this long bus ride to my old stomping grounds. I am certain that in one way or another, the war painted brave would help me seek my retribution that is so intensely focused on the man who I once called dad and the two pieces of scum who murdered my Grandpa. Sinking further into my seat I can’t help but revert into my consciousness and debate the questions that are still haunting me. The questions like, is it wrong to deal out street justice or where is the line drawn? Is it really an eye for an eye? I feel that if someone is murdered then the penalty should be death. What of the other offenses? This is my conclusion for repeat perversion. There should be an extermination of those people who seem so possessed by demonic addictions that it leads them to sexually abuse children. In my experience I have seen how the fleshly betrayal of a parent can cast demons down the generations that raise their ugly heads in so many different fashions. Ultimately this type of abuse renders most victims hopeless, full of confusion, and sometimes downright catatonic. People who sexually abuse children don’t quit. Rather than have the cycle repeat itself over and over again, it will be in my duty to rid the world of such offenders in grand fashion. Some people would strongly disagree with this thought process but they are those who would try and rehabilitate the offenders and put them back in the world. They would release these demons to repeatedly destroy all the innocence in the world until only darkness prevails. I must walk a little on the dark side myself in order to shine some light. Feeling more at ease with my conclusion, I begin to relax. The bus feels like a giant cradle with its rocking motion and gentle hum of the engine. The bus driver announces our departure of South Carolina and that we would soon be entering Savannah, Georgia.