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Timothy W. Stonecipher 2214 Southgate Blvd. Houston, TX 75886 The Making of a Murderous Mind Adult Fiction Total Word Count: 4,010 The Making of a Murderous Mind By Timothy W. Stonecipher Born in 1957, I was dead by the summer of 1962, at the hands of an uncle who cared only for his personal gratification. The influence of that hot mid-summer day in August, 1962, on an old tractor trail running between fields, a short cut for the kids I called friends of Snake Flats, our neighborhood, effected my life in ways I still haven't processed through yet, and I'm now 56 years old! I'm aware I cannot change the past; but I'm dedicated to do my best to help make a difference for those who may still be suffering today, or those who are lost in a whirlwind of confusion, whatever their age. How will I do this? By telling my story. To begin with, understand, the dead are not always found in a dead body, thus... I found myself caged with near animals in a prison system I will never understand. Like a snail on Thorizene, these twenty three years have crept by, seemingly never to end. I have not stopped kicking my backside all these years, daily too! Years after my incarceration I find but a single question prevailing: How did I let this become apart of my life? Victim turned victimizer, (that is not an excuse!) this is their diagnosis. I was a father and husband after all! I was a business owner also. Working 15 hour days, all in an attempt to deliver a better life for my children. To give my children a better opportunity at success than I had. As far back as I can remember, mother drove it into my head that I was not deserving of success. My goals changed. As I grew, I realized my truest goal was to drive out the demons of darkness and despair all created out of mother's own mouth. "You are nothing, worthless. You will always be a worthless piece of garbage!" Want to hear something? I grew to fully believe her words. Although I wanted to prove mother wrong, yet from where sit and write, it isn't logical is it? I mean, I failed everyone, myself included! And I did so miserably too! So often did mother take pleasure in degrading me, I have never enjoyed one day free from her hurtful, haunting and evil ways. At times they drive me to the point of this story's title. Sadly I may never find freedom from her words. Most of my life I have found myself doing two things: first, I continue believing mother's words of bitterness. Though she's gone now, her hate filled statements are forever a part of my daily life. I cannot shake them! Then second, I find myself often trying to prove she was right! How odd is that!? Even stranger is the fact I can accomplish this feat with the greatest of ease. So, if you will permit, this is where I shall begin, the battle... Like my father, I became a father. And just as dad did, I did also! By that I mean I became just as dysfunctional as he was. In the years of my upbringing, my father remained completely unaware of just how estranged he'd been from his own sons. I confess, I do not believe father realized what he was doing most of the time. On occasion his responsibilities were somewhat off balance. His priorities often seemed unimportant. I'm sure father never considered that his actions and his reactions would have far reaching and lifelong effects on those who looked up to him as a role model. My father at times seemed confused as you will see. Don't get me wrong, my father was no dummy by any stretch of the word. My dad drank without ceasing. I'd never seen him drink hard liquor. Beer was all we'd seen him consume. And boy could my father consume some beer! Only when working did he not have a beer in his hand. Though father alienated himself from us three boys. He was a wise and very hard worker. We were never in need as a family. I was 26-years-old last time I saw father alive. Just three months ago I was told father had passed away over a year ago. No one told me. It wasn't until Bryan, my step brother, called to tell me mother died the day before. He said, "Since I'm the bearer of bad news..." then I heard dad was gone too. That's my family! One thing father was famous for (For lack of a better descriptive word), it was very difficult to tell just when he was actually drunk. Oh, we knew well how many beers we'd watched him put down; but as strange as this might sound, the more father drank, if driving, the better driver he'd become. Dad never got a traffic ticket that I knew of. Something else odd, the more he drank the funner he'd get. Dad had a favorite drinking buddy: John Cirvic. Once together, these two drunks were a comedy act in their own right! These two clowns would have everyone in the room literally rolling on the floor! It didn't matter, the bar floor, the floor of a club they belong to, or simply a common kitchen floor. You'd find all present either holding their side, their bellies, or their crouches, sometimes we'd have to hold all three. I'm telling you if the scientific evidence was to prove true: Laughter will help keep you young! Well folks, I should outlive Methuselah, who, by the way lived to be nine hundred and sixty nine years old (okay, I may not live that long, but hey!). As strange as this might sound, every year growing up I made it a point to announce "I would never take a drink of alcohol." Year after year my parents threw huge parties, Christmas, New Years, or even Halloween parties. They tried so often to get me to take that one drink in celebration of that particular holiday, all my tempters walked away shrugging their shoulders. I was happy though. I refused continuously! You see, I had seen the devastating effects on those in my own family this strange liquid caused, not to mention the fact this stuff had killed at least two of father's supposed best friends. Sixty miles an hour around a hair-pin curve on a motorcycle yet! The motor cycle tipped and drug both husband and wife 300 feet to their deaths. Returning home after just such a party. Go figure! "Friends don't let friends drive drunk." That motto came far too late for these two friends of my father's. But somewhere along my journey, I became side tracked in all the confusion in my life! I mean, after running away from mother (opps, I mean home), I took a detour and found myself with my first beer in hand. While on the job no less! As difficult as this may sound to many, yet there are a few, it's not so strange. With that first drink I was hooked! Instantly, hooked! One swallow and I became an addict. I can't explain it, and oddly, neither can the professionals. Many have given their opinions why this happens; but all (and there have been many), doctors, psychologist, counselors and even friends too, said they had the answer. But they didn't! I did find One who did have the answer to my problems, yours too. And if you find yourself within these pages, well He's there, just begin seeking Him with your whole heart. When you get sick and tired of being sick and tired, call out, He'll answer that cry for help! He did it for me, nothing you've done will exclude you from His desire for you. At nearly eighteen, while working at a Daytona Beach, Florida, Seven Eleven, it was my responsibility to restock a large styrofoam tub, on wire legs, first with Budweiser beer, then I followed this with lots of ice! This night, having completed the task I found myself standing there, dumbstruck, looking at all that beer on "lots of ice." Well, from there, I'm still not quite clear what exactly happened next, other than I found myself going for number two. Then three, then, well, you get the idea... I don't remember much from there... From that one night's rendezvous, my fate was sealed, forever. I lost complete control too! For the following 25 plus years (give or take a year), I quickly spun out of control! Like the broken wheel of a NASCAR racer. From here I wandered through the sea of a drunken stupor. Nothing could have prepared me for that late night in 1991, my arrest. Following a year's fight, I found myself locked from all I'd ever known! I know my situation is not unique. And my account here is much like some others. The details might be a bit different; but the outcome is much the same. And if your life was anything like mine, then you are fully aware you lived in a prison of a different sort, long before some state run facility! Here, inside, I've been pushed to the limits of my sanity. All rational things has been left in the desert of mass confusion. If you, like me, find yourself in a similar place. We've become animals driven by others continuous bullying. They think they know us. But, they don't! For I have prayed with due diligence that our all powerful God, the creator of these dip-doodles, would instantly and without hesitation, wipe them off the planet. It's a documented fact, it isn't wise for me - or you - to hold in our anger and frustration, our hostilities towards those who recklessly tossed me to the trash heap their own residence - but I'm known to. Though honesty dictates I'm guilty of doing the same. I've got to be driven there. Though they can cause me no further pain, the damage has been done, long ago. The demise of some, should have brought about some closure, or, at the very least, solved some of my life's dilemmas. It did not! In an odd sort of way, being locked inside the cold walls of a prison cell, should itself, bring some comfort to those of us having suffered such abusive behavior. It does not! In most instances it just continues. Those who have wished me ill fate, beyond them I can find the ability to stand against the wiles of the devil's advocates, those I've lived among for 23 years. It's a struggle; but I can do it! So can you! True it is, those days are few and very far apart. But I've had some. Stranger yet, other times I can find comfort with my surroundings - for a time. Even I have had days where I feel nothing can stand against me... then... As if they have ESP or some strange phenomenon like it, these enemies know when I'm having a "good day." They rise up and bash me with their rude, hateful deliberate words of humiliation. Their comments, each dripping with slanderous venom, all their unfound remarks, once spoken, spread like a wildfire in the hills of San Bernendo, California, driven by 45 mph hot winds with hundreds of fire fighters fighting the smothering, unacceptability there's a zero percent possibility of containment. Their fire-driven words consumed everything I'd worked toward: To become a better man, leaving the past in the past, the mistakes I'd made. When such rudeness was spoken, what would I do? Glad you asked! Most often, I'd shut down. Yep! Getting off to myself became the single most important matter for the moment. Then? Well, there I'd stew. I'd contemplate the deaths of every last one of those who caused me such feelings of worthlessness to begin with. When this stewing reached its point of boiling, I'd return to my cell. The instant the doors would roll, POOF! In the twinkling of an eye, I'd vanish! Once inside? Strange you should ask, I'd stew all the more. Of course there was a whole lot of ass kicking for not doing something! Anything! One thing by now I had learned: passiveness had no place in a prison where men just don't give a damn who they hurt! It took me years to get it through my thick skull what was actually happening: A literal war had been waged against me. The demoralization of my humanity. With this, two things became clear: first, I believed that by listening to such lies about me, if I remained silent, nothing would ever change. And logic dictates it was inevitable this would be happening again. Second, I became acutely aware that what I was in fact doing, was granting these low-lifes power over me. Power - I'd given - over my struggles to control my emotion. I'd given power to their words which could easily - like a razor sharp knife-cut clear to the marrow of my bones, and generally did! I'd also given these parasites power over my thought processes, which was the single most destructive power that had so influenced my life. Their actions and words could stop cold all positive thinking that often took me years to learn, allowing me to re-think and re-consider the very errors of my own ways, the thing that got me here in the first place. The facts were, when I could successfully take one step towards the betterment I longed for, those to whom I've referred, would begin loading their bows, arrows freshly sharpened, taking aim and letting them fly. And it took just one, like a handgrenade, a direct hit was not required. Close was always close enough. BOOM! Damage done. Mission accomplished! Then as they moved on, I'd move back! Not yet knowing I had a choice, one they themselves were making for me. The success they had enjoyed was another power I'd granted them - freely, without a fight-to control my actions and reactions to their stupidity. Was I blind? In a word? Yes! But then... Realizing what was happening, giving them this - unwilling - predominance over me, a new and extremely dangerous animal was being unleashed. One I had not foreseen alive within me. Born from an uncontrollable anger - first towards myself - for having allowed this, to continue for so long. At this same time a sincere elimination process began: How best to take back the control I'd given them. As time progressed, my desire to eliminate these subhumans became something I was purposeful in my considerations. It wasn't long, strength grew as I thought in earnest voiding all humane ways of completely annihilating each of these, my opponents. Humane? Why for goodness sake would I ever consider some compassionate avenue of putting this problem to rest? No, my thinking was more in line with ridding all society of its ills by disposing of these products of a long Overdue bowel movement. Yes the prison society too! Then, finally I had reached a decision, I was ready to toss aside my thoughts of just how wrong my thinking had become. I began justifying in my mind the very purposes of these thoughts, justifying the very need to take such action! I could easily convince myself this was best for me! And God only knew who else I'd spare the hardship and turmoil these chunks of human refuse were capable of causing if I left the matter unchecked. Was a Superhero about to arrive? No! But a much damaged and greatly angered and a severely scared individual already had. Being alone on days like these were never a good idea. Becoming unfocused generally followed by my coming unglued. Often I'd find myself in a stupor of brain deadness. Kicking my ass followed a questioning session, "What's wrong with you?" Followed by, "Are you as worthless as mother said you'd be?" Closing out with, "You know damn good and well you're not capable of carrying this out!" This was a full rehearsal. After which I'd feel better. Then there were times when... Friends and I - together - could laugh away our hurts. It was more tolerable that way. We'd bear one another's burdens, willingly. This seemed the good and correct thing to do. Having experiences like this, I could feel a part of something whole... But then... Today, all hell would break loose. A rude stab. A message meant to be overheard. A jacket placed squarely on my shoulders, unmerited and certainly unsubstantiated. Placed there just because they could. No one who knew me would speak on my behalf, thus making these haters validated in their accusations, "...not wanting to get involved." I was still alone. Some would state, "I'm staying out of it!" Having no support, my faith in human kind was gone, "again!." 'This hit hard considering all the trust I'd put in these friends. "Never again" I would swear...! I am through! Damned straight! "Never again!" I would crawl into my bunk many a night in such mental anguish and turmoil, there were entire nights I would stew. Tossing and turning every two minutes or less. Why you ask? I too would be asking myself a question, "Why?" "Why am I such a fool? Is there something wired not quite right up there?" pointing to my skull. I surely am a glutton for punishment my mind yelled at me. "You've no one but yourself to blame for any of this," my mind screamed. And of course it was true - always is - there was no one else responsible for the continuation - all these years - of the many acts of terror perpetrated against me. No one! And no one but me would break the cycle of terrorism at the hands of those who have most affected my life. At some point I would fall off into a deep sleep. Deeper than I liked... Morning had dawned. The dayrooms were now open. The televisions were on, and louder than I could stand it; but I was aware it wouldn't be long before dozens of the most obnoxious men - alive - would slither their way in and, nearly losing their voices trying to get some unimportant redundant belief off their chest. But for now, just me and my potential first victim were in the room. And this could not be a good thing. I found myself readying my mind for the inevitable. I would look at this man in the deepest manner of hate. Looking at him my mind screamed, "take this one out! Now!" I would look away with just the snap of my head at the instant one muscle would twitch in his neck - which had become my center of focus. My head pounded. My throat had become as dry as the Mojave Desert. I couldn't swallow. Then the worst things began happening. My breathing had become erratic. My heart began beating so fast I thought it would beat its way out of my chest. I don't know why - at least I wouldn't admit why - I had brought a razor blade to the dayroom with me. I went to the water fountain for a drink I knew I could never swallow. From the fountain, I crept quietly up behind this monster of a man. He was at least 6'10" tall, his weight could not have been less than 390lbs (pick them pretty big don't I). This anacondi of a man was the constriction of all that gave me hope. My only concern now was that he not know I'd come close enough to do that which he'd driven me to do. As I stood close enough to make the move - unnoticed - all of his hurtful words had driven me to, each began echoing in my mind in unbearable decibels. Standing there, shadows behind me, I heard the words, "Just do it! Rid the world of this turd!" For a time - even I did not know - I watched in silence his jugular throb, thinking, "One quick move I'd make him bleed. No one would ever know." I had stepped out of reality. Then just as it had left, I snapped back into the moment. With a slap to the forehead, like some V8 juice commercial, I spoke in a whisper, "You idiot! There's just the two of you in this damn dayroom. How do you plan to get by this one?" Then in my head echoed, "How hard would this be to figure out? Tell them he did it himself? Yeah, right! Fool!" Then I began relaxing. That was a good thing. I was quite capable of talking myself into occurrences with wide and potential long lasting consequences. So, sure I was relieved. Besides, I hate needles. Still I'd think... Looking at the back of this sorry piece of dung, I found myself back thinking, "I can still do this." But my mind said, "If you ever want out of this hell hole, I'd think twice." I did have power to make logical choices, still. I continued to contemplate, not just their suffering, but their murder too! They do nothing but prey on those less strong than themselves. This thinking drove me to a despair I've not experienced before, or, since. So severe was the sinking to depravity of mind, I found myself in the state of illusion of the worse sort. Worse, because I couldn't shake this. Worse, because I had no control over the scenes I had contemplated for months, even years. All now playing out in living color inside my head... I was walking-in boldness, as though this was justified-right next to this literal victim of my own madness. I felt myself trembling without control. The man before me was deeply engrossed in some stupid program. Did he not know my intent? Had I played so well the passiveness, he could not see what he'd done to my thinking? This knuckle-head was simply unaware I was here! Then... My God! There's blood all over me! That squishing sound, I've heard it before. Blood squirting as the heart continued to pump. The noise has a sickening sound. The same I'd hear when my father and his best friend Mike slit the throat of an unsuspecting pig - as I felt this piece of shit was - or cow for our freezer. "I've cut his jugular vein!" It'll all be over very quickly now. As I watched the blood was now everywhere. It had begun to slow as the heart lost power. This monster of a man never stood. He tried to scream, but the blood was even in his mouth. His eyes wide in ultimate fear. The man was in shock as he sat there unable to comprehend his life was ending because he'd driven another man to the point of becoming an executioner. How did I get to this point? Could the words of such a simpleton, this bag of rotting flesh, drive me, or any one of us, to such a finality of our senses? Question upon pounding question, each having no answer, rushed with great speed though my mind. What have I done (dumb question now)? "Run! Run you blasted fool!" my mind wailed unbearably. "To where? I can't get beyond the gates!" With that, the evil to which had laid dormant for decades, in eternal silence. Watching. Waiting. And now that evil came to life. Screaming, "You are mine! I have always been in control. Now you will do all my bidding." "N-O!" came a silent scream! I grabbed both sides of my skull. I felt my brain swelling in its place. I could not stand this torment! In a fit of extreme horror, I screamed a scream no one but my mind heard. Suddenly, just as it had gone, reality returned. And with it came a violent fit of extreme vomiting. I could not hold it back, even had I tried. ...this account has been given that others may know that when you devalue a person's life, thereby justifying in your mind, the treatment you show that person. Know, that without warning, and without even realizing it, you may just become responsible for the making of a murderous mind. You could be its victim!
