So, the other day, Joan posts a test question she gives every man she gets seriously involved with. Joan, sadly, has a past history of rape and sexual assault, so the importance of this question to her should not be underestimated:
“Suppose I was kidnapped. The kidnappers call you and tell you that what they do with me is up to you. You MUST make a choice. They say to you, ‘You have two options. We can put a bullet through her head right now and tell you where to collect her remains. Or, we can all take turns raping her for 48 hours, dump her off somewhere, and you can pick her up alive.’ There is no way of finding me and no hope of saving me from the kidnappers. You have to choose one or the other. So what would you tell them to do with me? Why?”
Of course, I don’t know Joan and I don’t have the context of that personal knowledge to answer it correctly for her. Though, I did answer the question from the perspective of Mrs. Bixby (Not Her Real Name) and me.
“You are brutal! I can’t believe this choice. I really don’t know how to answer it. If I tell them to kill her, I am a murderer, but if I selfishly keep her alive, I have condemned her to a life of fear, shame and she would never forgive me. Could I live knowing that the cost of letting her live meant destroying who she is? Could I continue to live never knowing what may have occurred if she had lived?In her position, I would rather be dead than used and thrown away. However, that’s a choice I make. I am the only one who can willingly give up my life. It is not right for me to make that choice for her.
In the end though, I would have to be satisfied with knowing that the love of my life was dead, by my intent, if not by my action, because I could never live with that hate she would have for me by choosing my need for her to be alive over protecting her soul. I would tell them to shoot her.
And then I would hunt every last one of them down, beat them to within an inch of their lives, stuff their balls down their throat and put a bullet squarely in their cerebral cortex.”
There is a pretty decent conversation in the comments section about it as people chipped in. Some seemed to feel that I didn’t care enough for Mrs. Bixby (Not Her Real Name) to let her live. I again responded:
“There have been some very good responses here. When I first read this, as I was typing my response, I called over Mrs. Bixby (Not Her Real Name), who has never read your blog, and had her read what I wrote. I hadn’t finished but I was to the point of ‘In the end though, I would have to be satisfied with knowing that the love of my life was dead, by my intent, if not by my action, because I could never live with that hate she would have for me by choosing my need for her to be alive over protecting her soul. I would tell them to shoot her.‘I wrote my response from the personal perspective of me and my wife. She nodded at the response I gave, then watched as I typed, ‘and then I would hunt every last one of them down, beat them to within an inch of their lives, stuff their balls down their throat and put a bullet squarely in their cerebral cortex.‘ It was at that point that she patted me on the head, smiled and said, ‘Good boy.’ “
I thought it was quite the thought provoker and Joan updated the post with her dear love Jimmy’s response (obviously a favorable one) along with an explanation of what she is looking for in an answer.
This, of course, begs the question. What would you do?