This Candle of Mine, a post from a survivor, PART 2



Me with my toy gun, back in the day when kids were
smart enough to not point toy guns at police, hence
the no organge plug at the end of the barrel

It's no secret that we live in a schizophrenic country, or world for that matter. Many will argue that we are not, denial is a powerful force. But as individuals we serve as multiple, and conflicting voices, if the planet was thought to be a person, and we were the voices in it's head, than one could imagine what poor Earth must be suffering. We are quick to be cruel to those who we don't agree with, and take away rights because of our fear, not sense. Though we do always claim it's from sense.

We can play battle-facts all day about how in one place of the world there are no guns and there is next to violence, and then post a link about a place where there is a firearm in every home, the teachers are armed, and they have about the same amount of gun violence. You're hundred links vs. my hundred links. You can ignore my facts because yours is factier (yes I made that word up, but given the context of this statement, it's fitting.) than mine, and I can then do the same. We can talk about how in the UK there is lower gun violence and it's thanks to their gun laws. And I will tell you just how crazy us Americans are, and that no matter what laws are passed we will always find a way to hurt and kill each other. Maybe it's because we have been engineered by our government to be nuts, and dependent on their meds which in turn makes us crazier. Maybe the government has a trigger inside of us, it's not like there is medication out there with tiny nanite chips to monitor if the patient is taking the pills. But that is pure theory, and I can only say this from personal opinion.

Maybe it's an accident due to how goods are produced. The chemical reaction to our psyche. Perhaps it comes from video games and movies. Maybe people who get their rocks off by hurting and killing had a horrible childhood, or suffered trauma when they were young. We can talk why's all day and night. When we get down to it, Americans are the epicenter of insanity. Everyone of us have a different view, and we are not afraid to fight for those views. Or you get the types who go along with the strong-willed ones, and follow whoever has the biggest cred. Despite all of this, we narrow our focus to a headline. GUNMAN KILLS TWENTY CHILDREN IN A KINDERGARTEN CLASS WITH AUTOMATIC WEAPON. Immediately people start looking at the gun as the villain. “If we would just make it illegal to own an auto, or even semi-automatic gun, this shit wouldn't happen.” Or: “If guns were outlawed, this shit wouldn't happen. What kind of nutjob would even consider owning a firearm? Makes you wonder about that type of person.” Okay, the first one, I can see the point, the second is what shoves a bur under my saddle.

We have tunnel vision. The gun takes the place of the boogie man. Most people on this side don't look at the shooter. They think by removing the gun criminals will not try to find a way to get guns. And that's assuming that they wouldn't have guns if such laws were passed. For those of you who don't own a gun, I'm assuming you have a way of defending your home if one or more intruder were to come to your place, and break in with a loaded weapon? I sure would hope so. At least a baseball bat, something. I live in a small town, and we have burglars as well as a family of killers. Though the killers live outside of town, and kill in the area, and do so with out enough proof to put them away. Macomb, Illinois may not be the epicenter of crime, but there are people here who are dangerous, and don't follow the laws of the moral. Let me take you into a brief tour of my past.

The first time, and the worse of my life, was when I was almost six-years-old. I loved my aunt who lived here, in Macomb, Illinois. I lived in Colorado, outside of Florence, not far from Pike's Peak. It was a beautiful place to live. Serene, and it felt safe. The house we lived in didn't look like a whole lot from the outside, but inside was very homey. When we first laid eyes on it, there was a pair of severed chicken legs on the window sill. So hence forth it was referred to as, The Chicken Legs house. It was quaint, inside a cobble stone fire place-a bar to sit at with stools-by the kitchen. Home sweet home seemed appropriate there.

December seven-teenth 1986, I woke up with my mother in tears. For a five-year-old who adored his mother, this was the first impact. She got the call that the body of my aunt was found in a state park not far from where I live now. And that she was murdered by her husband. I didn't know all the details at the time, only that two things in my life I took for granted had gone horribly askew. I took for granted that my aunt would always be around to visit her favorite nephew, and bring him toys. Or that mother wouldn't fall apart, leaving me as a moral center when I too had just been shattered.

As I would find out in later years, quite a bit when I was an adult, there was more to this “man” who killed my aunt. For one, he wasn't certifiably crazy. He didn't take medication that I know of. I don't even think he owned a gun. He did idolize some murderous character from a soap opera, but that was as about it far as crazy goes. He was a power hungry asshole. He made my aunt break into the homes of their friends, and wait for the friends to return to find them. He would pace around saying cute lines making himself sound sinister while my aunt sat at the kitchen table, balling her eyes out. If she stepped out of line, he would beat her. To strike fear in a heart was crack to him. It gratified him. When he was around me before the killing, he played up the uncle of the year. I thought he was so cool. So did my aunt when she first met him.

What I didn't know at the time of the killing, besides the insurance policy that he took out on her, but that when one of my other family members testified in court against him, that he threatened everyone in the family; including me. He had admitted to a friend that he killed my aunt prior to being arrested, and pled no contest in court for a reduced sentence. He served ten years in prison, and ten out. He continues to be in a relationship with a woman who he abuses.

The night terrors I suffered as a child along with suicidal thoughts haunted me for a very long time before I broke free from it. Even to this day I still have the occasional dream where the man is coming to kill me and my family. I still want his life taken at my hand. The murder weapon in his crime? Nope, not a gun. A hammer. He followed through with a T-Shirt around her throat for good measure, then dropped her on a campfire. The piece-of-shit wasn't taking any chances. Who went on any tangents for my aunt? Perhaps hammers should be outlawed? Or maybe T-Shirts? Or campfires? I mean, those were the weapons of choice, and they do kill. I could kill him with a garbage bag unopened, but unfolded, and the ends wrapped around my hands. The intent to murder does not come from the ease of a gun. If someone wants to kill bad enough, they will so. You're values, mine, they don't mean shit to the criminal. The kind that do this laugh at us.

The following year, in 1987, it was dark, my dad was on a business trip. We still lived at The Chicken Legs house. Just me, the family dog (a small one at that, but temperamental) and my mother. I think was six now. Time had passed some, but the lost of my aunt still hung heavy on me. The door-nob wiggled, like someone was trying to get in. It wasn't my aunt's killer, he was locked up by now. Not to mention separated by a couple of states. Someone wanted in. My mother grabbed her small pistol, and said loudly: “Don't worry Dale, I got the gun and the dog, everything is going to be okay.” The door-nob stopped. And whoever it was never appeared. My mom tells me that there was someone living next door that didn't seem all there, and they had a bad vibe to them. Now this by no means indicates that this person did try to unlawfully enter our house, or even mean harm to us. But the odds are good that was the intent. And if so, a gun might have saved our lives. How dare those who wish away guns would love to have had my mother disarmed. How dare them. Does the words, “rape” and “murder” mean anything? No, we didn't need a machine gun, but what if this person was armed, and didn't stop? Now personally, for this kind of example, I think a smaller firearm was a wiser choice.

Now for the last part. This might make anti-gunners cheer. I was working at my very first job, KFC, in Decatur, Illinois. It was closing time, and I was grabbing left over chicken from the cabinet when I saw a black ball of pantyhose bob up and down just over the threshold of the metal door. At first I thought it was the weave one of my fellow employees, she had a fancy one in a type of braided hive. But when I closed the door, I saw a fat guy in a black coat with a black pantyhose over his head, with a gun in hand, shoving my manager back. My manager bled from the forehead which came from a blow of the gun handle. The gunman pushed him back against the prep table, and tapped my shoulder. He told me repeatedly to get down. I stared, petrified, not just from fear, but from disbelief. The manager nodded his head at me, then I squatted down. I tried to look up from time to time to get some look of the guy to remember for the police as he then took the manager to the safe. It took a bit for the man to get the money, the whole time I'm sitting there, I'm wondering what the hell these guys are going to do. I did spot one other, he was some skinny little bugger who held a bag open for the loot. They drug crap out from the office and stock room, my guess is to make sure there wasn't any more hidden money.

The big one finally came back. I think the skinny one took the money to the car. The big one forced me, my boss, and the other employee, the one girl with the weave, into the walk-in cooler. I use to watch the show, America's Most Wanted, and one of the episodes came to mind. It was one where a gunman forced the staff of a video store into a stock room, and they were shot execution style. We stood there, in the cold, and waited. The big guy left us, and we didn't come out for a little while. The other employee sat on a box pulling synthetic strands of hair out of her weave. I was trying to mentally digest just what happened. I have never seen something like this in person. I always got the memo after a crime was committed, or I at least didn't see the malevolent perp. My manager, though he was man-handled, and pistol-whipped still had the drive-thru headset on. A beep, it was a customer. Though we were closed at the time, since we had just closed when the gunman came, the manager never took off the headset. (I'm thinking drive-thru closed an hour later there, but not for sure)

The police were called, we gave our statements. The assistant manager came in, and we finished up closing after I jogged home to tell my folks what had happened. When I worked at KFC, it was a block away from my house, where my parents lived.

A week passed, and still felt the trepidation every time I sat foot into the walk-in cooler. And of course, more nightmares to add for years to come. There was even a moment when some street person came back behind the counter to argue with the same manager who was there during the hold up. He was mad about something, and the manager threatened to call the police so the man left. But again, I was struck by the same fear.

My point in all of this, it isn't guns that scare me. It's people. They have the will to either not do bad, or to do it. They decide what and how to hurt, kill, or steal. Not the weapon of choice. For all I know the pistol was empty during the hold-up. The man used fear to keep us in check, not bullets. The man who killed my aunt didn't give two-shits about gun control, he didn't need a gun.

And if you think that stiffer gun laws-not taking guns in general way-will make this country safer, maybe you're right. But keep this in mind, the war on drugs doesn't stop people from using or dealing. Gunrunners do sell guns in this country, they sell them a lot in Mexico where they are then shipped into the states. Those of us who follow the law may not own guns, or anything behind a single shot, but the criminals will.

Terrorists don't usually use guns, not too often. The one that comes to mind that did, was a soldier in the US army (the Fort Hood shooting). They do like to make bombs, sometimes the kind strapped to an idiot who is looking to take as many people down as he/she can. And then there is the threat of chemical weapons being used.

Want to save lives? It only goes so far with extra laws. It starts with people. It starts with how we take care of the mentally ill. Or maybe the laws needed should be the kind that locks up abusers for decades, or locks them up when they murder, and throw away the key. Instead of giving a killer a ten-year-sentence, and a drug user gets 30-to-life. But what about the big guy with the revolver? It was just a small pistol. Maybe a .38. Nothing fancy. What about him? And did he own it legally? Probably not.

One last word: to those of you who have the audacity to make fun of food and preppers, let me be clear. Prepping in supplies does not make someone crazy, nor is it a bad idea. Just because you refuse to stock up beyond a week, doesn't mean everyone else should follow your way of life. What if there was a disaster, and you couldn't get any food for a few weeks, and other survivors were going around looting houses, maybe even found some kind of weapon. What the hell do you plan eating, or using to protect your family? Your values? Google disasters. Check out how people act in a crisis. While some are heroes, others are not. And while the world did not end, disasters do strike. It isn't stupid or crazy to be prepared. If you think it is, even though I haven't the money to be a prepper, you can add my name to the list of nutjobs. If you think it's funny to put-down preppers in general, then I think it's funny when people like you are caught in a disaster without a plan B.

Want to change my opinion on that? Then stop being mean to those that you cannot understand. What happened at Sandy Hook was a case of a mentally ill person on meds that made him crazier. He was sick, and allowed to live in the real world as someone who wasn't. He wasn't properly cared for. And from what I have heard, his brother never talked much about his family. Many of his friends didn't even know he had a brother. Which indicates there was some problems with the shooter before Sandy Hook.

I'm sick and tired of those who believe the government will take care of everyone, and that anyone who wants to take of themselves are crazy. I won't force you to “horde food” (comments like the ones I was referring to), or to stock up on guns. And I expect you to not put down those that do. Not every one who owns guns, or automatic guns at that, are monsters looking to make headlines by killing kids in a school. SHOCK, I know. Stop generalizing, stop hating. That is exactly what it is, and often done by those who criticize hate and judgment. Want to see a better world? Start by living your values. Start by being the person who expect others to be. Do you want equality? Peace? Enlightenment? Is that something you have been wanting from the world, or at least America? Then live it! Be the person you think you are. First step in achieving the above values I listed. And it will only be through those that will unite this country.