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CorruptionThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by fabian villegas | |
| Wednesday, 02 July 2008 | |
Corruption "sentenced to imprisonment in a mental hospital pending a psychological exam." Those words rang in my mind like a fire bell. Never before had mere words sent chills down my spine. It was only a month ago that all the commotion had stopped. I was hung out to dry by a couple of morons. My family supported me through my court case as well as my hard times. In here, however, I have no one. The lights are off at 9:00pm and I have nothing. I am nothing. My daily life consists of staring at four concrete walls and a bucket for my ****.
Life as I know it is over, but now I question whether it had ever really begun. I was born in a small shit-hole outside of Indio, California. My dad is my best friend; my mother is just there. I have two older brothers and no sisters. Right now I'm 5'8" and 150lbs. I lost a lot of weight because I live in this crap cell. I have red hair, the only one in my family to have red hair. My eyes are green and I look like a white-boy, even though I have Mexican heritage. My brother used to kid me about my red hair and say that I didn't belong to the family. I thought it was all bullshit, and that he just said those things to **** with me, but now I'm starting to believe it. When I was young I hated my father; however i could not point out the source for such hatred. My mother was always around, my dad worked all day. I was quite a smart young buck. I knew a lot about electricity and all the people in school knew I was smart, except the ones who mattered of course. Honor classes were easy for me and I loved conducting experiments and reading, however, I hated that Student of the Month award. I might have been the smartest ************ in the whole school and I never received one. The kids that always won were those ass kissing kids. I just hated them and wanted them all to suffer and die. I had a dream I came to school with a shotgun and a couple of pipe bombs, shoved the pipe bombs down their pants and shot the teachers that never considered me. I doubt that it will ever happen. Oh well. When I hit Junior High I thought it would be no sweat. Something happens to kids when they see girls during P.E... At least I know something happened to me; girls took over my life. I was no longer the smart kid in the front seat. I was the smart kid in the back seat trying to be cool so I could talk to a girl. That doesn't get you very far in life, unless you want to end up like me in a cell, or a pine box. High School consisted of reading, drinking with my friends, and my girlfriend. I had the intelligence to do well but I was extremely lazy, I guess I still am. I never did my work, but I read a number of books. Catcher in the Rye, For Whom the Bell Tolls, Slaughter House Five, and Hearts of Darkness. I was a smart kid; I just never applied myself, or so it goes. I was only interested in my knowledge, not knowledge for school or knowledge for work but knowledge of life; my own personal drive to know everything. I must have read every book in that library; Hawthorne, Hemmingway, Lovecraft and Vonnegut were my mentors. Anyway, I will not bore you with my quest for knowledge. Sarah is my wife now of 15 years. She had been my girlfriend since high school. We got married when I was 25, she was 27. She visits me sometimes but I hardly ever get to see outside my walls that I call home.My father and Sarah are the only ones I can trust. She earned my trust because regardless of what happened, she was always there to tell me it would be fine; I love that girl. My father's name is Hank. I never liked my father until one day in July 1990. I was having an argument with my mother over my motorcycle, my father came home and took me aside and told me, "Son, don't mind your mother, she's crazy, and I'm not kidding." My mom had Manic Depressive disorder. A disease that makes her extremely short tempered and angry. Ever since then, I have loved my dad. He showed me what it was like to be a man and take care of a family. My dad is my role model; I want to be just like him, but not completely like him. All my life I had been the good kid, doing good things and helping where ever I could. I had a job was with the newspaper. Every day I would write articles at home and e-mail them to the editor. Every day I received the same e-mail. "Thanks for the article but I think we'll go another way for the story." Imagine getting that e-mail everyday of your adult life, for 20 years. A week before I went to court I sent a virus to all the newspaper editors. Then I stood up, stared at my monitor and put my fist through it. I broke every bone in my hand. But I didn't stop until it was completely shattered. I don't get angry often, but when I do you better not be in my way. Anger and rage, those two words describe me. I am filled with rage and hate. Hate for him, hate for my wife, and hate for everything, I can't pinpoint how it all began, or how I can get rid of it, it has been a part of me for so long that I don't think I would if I could. I can barely make a fist because of all the injuries on my hand. The first finger I broke when I punched the wall. The second one I broke when I punched it again. I shattered my hand when I punched my computer screen. My right hand has no use, I can barely hold it still and the pain is nearly unbearable. Physical pain doesn't bother me, emotional pain bothers me. It tears me apart and I cannot survive. I refuse to lose my composure, but with people like Sarah, I lose control all the time. I don't meant to, but it's another one of those things that is beyond my control. Page after page I write about anger. I have to learn to deal with it or it will be the end of me. It's already too late, the end is near. The date is October 1, 2023, and it's 3:00am. I haven't seen a sunrise in months. There is no window in my cell, only walls and a bucket; Walls that cage me in, walls that protect my anger. Those walls are closing in and my anger will take over. My death sentence is coming soon. I feel its presence; it looks me in the face and smirks. It's the specter of a big, black, hooded head with a smile. I see it crucified on the wall. I reach for it, but my fingers never meet the wall. My cell is dark and the air is thick with musk. It may be pitch-black but the spirit is evident. I hear the wall speaking something; it's not the wall. The sound is coming from that thing on the wall. Again I reach for it and...nothing. The same phrase is being repeated continuously. "Where is your mind? Where is your soul?" It is now 11:00pm and I have been hearing the same phrase for the past 20 hours. I have to tolerate this raving sprit crucified on the wall."Where is your mind? Where is your soul?" What does that mean? "Where is your mind? Where is your soul?" I am running out of time and I have to know. "Where is your mind?" The walls are closing in, "Where is your soul?" I feel everything yet I feel nothing at all. Dammit it's enraging me! I have to hear his raspy voice repeatedly. I can't tolerate this any longer. The figure is growing larger, much like my anger. For the first time in months, the door to my cell is opened. The C.O.handed me my last meal, steak and mashed potatoes; I throw it back in his face and scream at him, "Where is your mind? Where is your soul?" They send the priest to see me. I tell him the same thing, "Where is your mind? Where is your soul? "I also told him to go **** himself; he has no answers for me. I cannot feel my arm, I reach for it and it is not there. I only feel a cold liquid on the floor. The figure is repeating his words rapidly, and I'm sure that he is not going away. My anger is consuming me, it is tearing me apart. Little by little the walls close in; my anger grows with every second that passes. Why is this figure crucified on my wall? Why can't I feel the wall? I reach and my fingers do not meet. The figure speaks louder, and I can no longer see him, my vision is hazy, my mind is muddled. Those words are like a saw tearing into me. Mind? What does that mean? Soul? What does that mean? At long last, silence.............. I am in a place now; it is no longer my cell, I don't know where it is. The walls are white and cushiony. My vision is too blurry to see two feet in front of me. I understand now what the spirit said."Where is your mind? Where is your soul?" Anger took over my life; I was angry at the world, angry at the figure for annoying me. Anger corrupted my mind and I couldn't think properly. My soul was isolated, I was isolated. I am a loner only because I isolate myself in order not to hurt anybody, yet in doing so I wound up only hurting myself. The figure was helping me remember, I'm all better now. Anger corrupted me, cold liquid saved me.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Los Angeles Chronicle --October 2, 2023 Syrus Nathanal-40 years old-incarcerated in Antagonism Neutraizing Guidance, and Emergency Room of the Saint Mary Mental Hospital (A.N.G.E.R.)-death due to gruesome suicide-2 children1 wife-Closed casket funeral due to injuries. Syrus Nathanal was incarcerated in (A.N.G.E.R.) He committed suicide at the age of forty. Syrus was found crucified in his cell with a smile on his face. The skull was shattered into pieces and his arm completely torn off. The words Mind and Soul were scribbled on the wall with his own blood. Nobody knows what persuaded Syrus into doing such a thing; it looks as though he was torn apart. He was scheduled for release this morning at 7:00am. The room he was held in remained extremely cold; his blood was almost frozen to the floor.
Copyright 2008 fabian villegas |
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