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What would happen if a drunk driver killed my nephew

L

Lord Evermore

Diamond Member
Laid down to read and go to sleep, very tired, but then the book got to an exciting chapter after the first quarter of it barely had anything going on. So I got relatively worked up. Then my mind started roaming and my very active imagination started generating scenarios.

The chapter in the book ended with the main character finding out his father lied to him and the confrontation and stuff. So I started thinking about that happening to me, then that turned to being at work and getting a phone call saying someone in my family had died. Then that turned into finding out my nephew (6 years old) had been hit by a car and killed.

At that point, I imagine my reaction being that I'd find the person that did it, and kill them. About 10 minutes laying there dreaming up how all this would pan out. Then I threw in that it was a drunk driver, and the moment I was able to get into close proximity to him (how many women ever kill anyone while driving drunk?) I'd attack, latch onto his throat, holding him up one-handed since the adrenaline would have kicked in, and squeeze until my fingers touched my thumb, then just rip it all away.

Pretty gruesome already. Then I figured if the trial started before that could happen, I'd sit through it, and when the inevitably light sentence was handed down (what could be punishment for taking away 70, 80, 90 years of a child's life?), then I'd lose it and attack him. By the time I worked all of that out, the plan became that for the sentencing I'd have smuggled in something sharp but small and non-metallic, plus some tape to attach it to my fingers, in order to kill him. Then I decided to skip the sharp objects and just file down my nails to points. Toss in a little PCP to give me strength to throw the bailiffs across the room and out of my way. Pick the guy up, flip him over into the open area of the court, and bash his head against the floor until it cracked open, then finally rip his throat out just to be sure.

Of course I'd expect to go to prison for it, or at least a mental institution (although given that it's quite planned out, I don't know if it'd count as being insane). Inevitably the media would want to ask me questions, and I'd then advocate that anyone who has a loved one killed by a drunk driver should react in the same way, or at a bare minimum should hammer unceasingly at the politicians and judges who allow people 2, 3, 4, half a dozen convictions for driving drunk with minor fines, license suspensions or short jail terms, and get them sentenced appropriately for their crime: ignoring the risk they put on others just so they can have a little fun. My way of course wouldn't bring back the dead, or make it even, but at least that person would no longer be able to hurt anyone, and would no longer derive any joy of any sort from anything.

Well, that seems to have helped. I'd gotten my heart rate up pretty high thinking of all that, now I've depressed myself typing it up. Too bad I can't actually flesh it out into a real story. Dialogue and plot lines just don't come naturally to me; I'm too fact-focused.

And of course, I had to post this to see the reaction. Any signs of psychosis, you think?
 
It would be a shock and really make someone angry to find that out, but you can't react that way... It can't reverse what has happened, you're just be hurting yourself thinking about that kind of stuff. That's the kinda time where someone has to be there for his family when they need him, not be thinking about murder.

Edit: By the way, you have gone crazy

but weren't always crazy?
 
Doesn't anybody around here sleep?

Actually, I did go off my medication a few weeks ago. 🙂 I need to find a new shrink, moved too far from my old one, haven't had time to find another.
 
I'll make note at this point, I am REALLY frigging tired but my body is wide awake. And I checked my schedule and found out I don't have to work till 10AM, so I ended up with an extra couple of hours I wasn't expecting to sleep, which I promptly wasted.
 
Lemony Smicket' Series of Events did have one line that I will never forget.

I forget how it goes exactly, except to say that attempting to understand the pain of losing someone is truly inconcievable and ouright impossible without having experienced it. It is a pit with no escape, and hopelessnessthat has no cure. Sarcasm, humor in an of itself, and joy of any kind are cast into the pit without so much as a branch to grab on to, banned from your life, and seemingly rippied from the pages of existance.

When I recently lost my grandmother. I experienced the incoming malaise. I told myself that the day I had lost her was the day the Alzheimers wiped every trace of my exitance from her mind. That day when she had asked who I was had seemingly ripped every shred of life from my heart, but some how, in the incredible and, untill then, inconcievable sadness, there was a glimmer of hope. I told myself that she was having a bad day, that the cells were sleeping, that it was somehow my fault, or that the weather was to blame. In the end, she never once again uttered my name with assurance, addressing me as a tall handsome and unkown man.

When she died, I felt no immediate rush of emotion. It was if I was on a beach, playing with the sand, and an epic wave was forming far off into the distance. within time, it had overshadowed the horizon such that I forgot about it completely.

And then the wave reached my shores. At that moment, some all-knowing force, perhaps my consciencessnes or some devine messenger, was the deliverer of the message, but irregardless, the message was quite clear. She would never recognize me again.

This was the woman that I would expect immediate consolation from at all times. She was understandably, in my own eyes, the most caring and innocent being in creation. She smiled and I smiled back, and she always asked what was becoming of her bloodline. She always pinched my cheeks. She always poked my belly. She always gave me treats. She always made me feel innocent and worry-free.

This woman no longer existed.

I did not go to her funeral.

How could I?

Was I to have a heart as courageous as a lions such that I would be able to face an empty corspe that would not pinch my cheeks or say hello. Was I too weak to admit defeat in recognition? Was I so shallow?



Then the gravity of it all consumed me. My heart ached as it pierced by her absense. I was breathless. I was dying inside. I was alone. I was cold.

I realized, in one flicker of some far off candle, that the only person who could truely make me feel innocent and truly happy, was gone.

And yet, I only cried once. They were tears of joy and of sadness, for I new she was free from pain, and yet from my life, absent.


I still remember one of the last conversations I had with her. She kept on asking me why she could not remember and why she was in so much pain. She was desperate. She was alone. She knew no one. Even her children were foreign to her, and I fear she died an old, sweet and solitary women in a world that seemingly owed all its goodness to this old crippled courpse.

Psychosis after such trama is implied thorugh the effects felt by everyone who has lived it.
 

the lemony smicket quote i cant agree with you more. i would like to of heard that part in the movie but there were 5 kids sitting behind me making all kinds of noises.

your grandma sounded like she was a real wonderful person.

Originally posted by: Goosemaster
Lemony Smicket' Series of Events did have one line that I will never forget.

I forget how it goes exactly, except to say that attempting to understand the pain of losing someone is truly inconcievable and ouright impossible without having experienced it. It is a pit with no escape, and hopelessnessthat has no cure. Sarcasm, humor in an of itself, and joy of any kind are cast into the pit without so much as a branch to grab on to, banned from your life, and seemingly rippied from the pages of existance.

When I recently lost my grandmother. I experienced the incoming malaise. I told myself that the day I had lost her was the day the Alzheimers wiped every trace of my exitance from her mind. That day when she had asked who I was had seemingly ripped every shred of life from my heart, but some how, in the incredible and, untill then, inconcievable sadness, there was a glimmer of hope. I told myself that she was having a bad day, that the cells were sleeping, that it was somehow my fault, or that the weather was to blame. In the end, she never once again uttered my name with assurance, addressing me as a tall handsome and unkown man.

When she died, I felt no immediate rush of emotion. It was if I was on a beach, playing with the sand, and an epic wave was forming far off into the distance. within time, it had overshadowed the horizon such that I forgot about it completely.

And then the wave reached my shores. At that moment, some all-knowing force, perhaps my consciencessnes or some devine messenger, was the deliverer of the message, but irregardless, the message was quite clear. She would never recognize me again.

This was the woman that I would expect immediate consolation from at all times. She was understandably, in my own eyes, the most caring and innocent being in creation. She smiled and I smiled back, and she always asked what was becoming of her bloodline. She always pinched my cheeks. She always poked my belly. She always gave me treats. She always made me feel innocent and worry-free.

This woman no longer existed.

I did not go to her funeral.

How could I?

Was I to have a heart as courageous as a lions such that I would be able to face an empty corspe that would not pinch my cheeks or say hello. Was I too weak to admit defeat in recognition? Was I so shallow?



Then the gravity of it all consumed me. My heart ached as it pierced by her absense. I was breathless. I was dying inside. I was alone. I was cold.

I realized, in one flicker of some far off candle, that the only person who could truely make me feel innocent and truly happy, was gone.

And yet, I only cried once. They were tears of joy and of sadness, for I new she was free from pain, and yet from my life, absent.


I still remember one of the last conversations I had with her. She kept on asking me why she could not remember and why she was in so much pain. She was desperate. She was alone. She knew no one. Even her children were foreign to her, and I fear she died an old, sweet and solitary women in a world that seemingly owed all its goodness to this old crippled courpse.

Psychosis after such trama is implied thorugh the effects felt by everyone who has lived it.
Click to expand...

 
Killing somebody over that is a tough call. On the one hand your sense of justice might demand a gruesome execution, but on the other hand your remaining family would suffer you being behind bars.

That's when you get a membership to the library and start scouring the forensic journals, learning crime scene techniques. Oops, I've said too much!
 
I stopped reading when you absolved women of any grievous consequences of driving drunk.
I daresay anyone who drives drunk is at equal risk for causing death, regardless of gender.
 
I didn't absolve anybody. I just said you never hear of a woman killing anybody while driving drunk. It's always men who do stupid stuff like that. Maybe it's just because women are more likely to be getting a ride home. 🙂

Oh yeah, it's my own thread and I'm so uninterested as to not read the long post above. 🙂 This is essentially the same type of post I'd make if I'd been drunk.
 
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