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One morning, while standing at my window, I discovered that a spider had spun its web on the outside comer of the window's ledge. The web ran for about a foot, in a slanted direction, from the top of the comer downward. I stood in amazement as I watched the insect weave its web around a small bug that had the misfortune to fly into its trap. I watched as the small creature struggled to free itself all to no avail. In a short space of time the bug, no longer moving and presumably dead, had been totally enmeshed in the web, which now resembled a cocoon.
Some time later I returned to the window to discover the bug missing from the center of the web. During the following days I observed the spider as it repeated the process. It was enchanting to watch the precision and the swift movements with which the spider worked. Further observation revealed that each trapped insect had been moved to the top of the web and hung there as part of a neat row, with the spider positioned nearby as if to stand sentry over its bounty. My thoughts at first were for the helpless insects, ensnared and fighting for freedom, and then for life itself
As time passed, my admiration for this small brown spider grew as I watched it wear down and eventually defeat enemies twice or three times its size. Somehow I felt a connection to the spider, which I had come to think of as my own.
In a strange way I could envision that the spider and its victims were representative of existence and human lives, my own included. That insight only added to my emotional turmoil as I attempted to understand aspects of my own behavior which had led to murder. No answers came. A few days later, wind and hard rain swept through the area. As I watched the big drops pelt the bulletproof glass window, the rain and wind rapidly demolishing all the spider had lived and worked for, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness, loss and doom for myself and others. As the tears ran down my cheeks and fell onto my shirt, I wanted to move away from the destruction, but couldn't. I felt rooted to that spot. My thoughts were no longer of the spider, but, rather of my own wasted life. In that moment I could see clearly the pain, the grief and the suffering I've caused; how by my actions I have destroyed lives and with my hands have taken a life. The magnitude of that realization increased my confusion and despair.
In the two years since my encounter with the little brown spider, I've grown to understand that each of us is responsible for our actions. We are accountable here on this earth and we also must answer to a higher being, whom I've chosen to call God. Some actions require a higher price than others. It is my belief however, that no price ever compensates for the taking of a human life, whether by a cold blooded murderer or by government sponsored capital punishment. Murder is murder.
Note: David Paul Hammer #24507-077 is on Death Row in Terre Haute, Indiana.
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