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Am I Truth or Fiction
This is a fiction story of a psychopath demonstrating his truth.

Russell Twyce
 Russell Twyce Blogs
http://russelltwyce.com

Am I truth or fiction?

“Is your search for stories aimed at truth or fiction today?” A prisoner
asked while his shackles were being locked to the prison psychiatrist’s
interviewing couch.

“I seek truth,” the doctor said while watching the guard leave, “but all
you seem to offer is your fiction. I’m hoping today might be different
though.”

“You should call the guard back because my truth will still be true but
as it doesn’t mesh with the crap a university crammed into your skull,
you’ll again see it as fiction and your search for stories will be
unsatisfied.”

“That ‘crap’, as you refer to it, has been developed after years of
clinical studies and an exhaustive search for stories, and by some of
the world’s brightest minds.”

“Is an externally rendered depiction of a psychopathic mind set, as

offered by a genius, more intrinsically accurate than a psychopath, of
above average intelligence, telling of the inner workings of his own
mind?”

“The phrase ‘clinical studies’ implies that psychopaths were indeed

interviewed in an attempt to find how to make the world better.”

“Yet another psychopath would interpret what was said differently than
a shrink does, just as you routinely refuse to hear any truth I say as
anything but fiction. I suppose that if you can manage to somehow
cram your misunderstood conception of my mind into one of your
utterly false but university accepted but boxes, then you’ll publish your
own ‘clinical case studies’ of me and proclaim your brilliance.”

“Perhaps you could employ the time of your multiple life sentences and
dangerous offender status to take correspondence courses toward a
degree in psychiatry. Then you’ll have the accreditation to write your
own views.” The psychiatrist settled his ample butt into his swiveling
and reclining chair. “Your raw intellect is as strong as many of the
students I graduated with.”

“I couldn’t pass the exams to gain a degree.” The convicted killer said
flatly. “My answers to questions would differ from those the professors
believe are correct.”

“Give me an example one.”

“According to a recent article I’ve read, ‘sociopaths adopt a particular

belief system based on a logic of their own and they seldom have any
doubts’. My participant’s knowledge of this belief set and this logic
puts my opinions into the psychopath’s condition into conflict with the
person grading my paper and because I don’t suffer any doubts, I’m
unlikely to insert the wrong answer, just to get the question right.”
“Can you tell me how your beliefs and logic differ from mine?”

“Certainly,” the sociopath smiled enigmatically, “but afterwards, I’ll

have to kill you.”

“I watched the guard secure your chains,” the psychiatrist chuckled:

likelihood of his being harmed was remote, to the point of fictional, “so
I’ll take my chances.”

“A psychopaths logic differs from yours in that his is true and yours is
bullshit. He is without doubts because Aristotle’s logic only allows
truth with no other option. The Sophist diatribe that you accept as
logic is always false because it’s rooted on untrue base precepts and
this waffling version of reasoning allows either yes or no to seem as
truth or fiction, depending on which you want to result. Consequently,
you’ll never achieve the level of certainty that a sociopath has.”

“One that allows you to make arbitrary life or death decisions for your
victims.”

“Indubitably.”

“I’m not trained in law, so I’ll leave the discussion on logic, to focus on
your beliefs.”

“Or to put it more succinctly, you’ll ignore a vital portion of a

psychopath’s mental makeup due to your unwillingness to allow your
mind to become unfettered, or as you might view it, ‘unhinged’.”

“If learning to understand your logic would make me willing to murder

a fellow human being, then yes, I’ll prefer not delving deeply into it.”

“A psychopath’s logic is the elusive key to how to make the world a

better place and were you to dare examining it objectively, you could
write a paper on the sociopath that would lead to the real cure for
condition.”

“Your logic is obviously warped. Your killing people, irrefutably proves

that.”

“I disagree but you expressed a desire to examine my end beliefs

without first knowing what they derive from, so let’s switch topics.”

“I see it as another aspect of the same subject.”

“Because you’re judging it with your variable result logic.”

“The world is not black and white.”

“Yes it is.” The killer watched the psychiatrist drink a bottle of water:
the man’s prominent Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. “And that
pithy remark is utterly incorrect. In the daytime the world is light or
white and at night it is dark and black. But black and white or light and
dark has nothing to do with why a psychopath kills. He kills because
differentiating between truth or fiction is a yes or no question. The
victim ends up being alive or dead: there is no grey.”

“Yet somehow this absolute to absolute philosophy translates into a

need to kill and to show no conscience during the heinous act or
remorse after it.”

“Remorse is a function of believing one has done something wrong.

I’ve no regrets regarding the crimes I’ve been convicted of.”

“Except in the fact that you were caught and stopped.” The doctor
added.

“I performed my first murder with the intent of being apprehended and

it took my committing three more, that you’re aware of, to bring about
my capture. In defense of my lack of sorrow regarding my actions, I’ll
present my list of trophies. I started with a corrupt cop, then I bagged
a bottom-feeding lawyer. I took out a government bureaucrat, a
corporate maggot and I would’ve aimed next for a politician. All told, I
think many people might’ve believed I performed exterminations but
media hype drummed in that it was socially acceptable to think on my
acts as brutal crimes.”

“Your notion of ‘many people believing’ is your wishful projection. It is

not fact.”

“How completely brain dead it is to say that!” The psychopathic

murderer moved to gain a more comfortable position: to perform the
awkward action while shackled, he needed to strain briefly at the
extreme limits of his restraining chain. “You wishfully suppose that
only 1% of the population is sociopathic but the percentage of people
who are on the path towards it is exponentially higher. The one
percent consists of only those who have decided they’re ready to
loudly express their political views.”

“In a voice without any compassion or conscience.”

“Again your failing to address the sociopath’s logic renders your any
attempt at full comprehension futile. My murders were overflowing
with empathy for humanity.”

“I strongly doubt that anyone will ever understand such a ridiculous

statement.”

“Then I’ll have to enunciate it in a tone with stronger conviction.” The

psychopath glanced at the notepad his interviewer was busy scribbling
on. “Do you take down what I say verbatim?”

“No,” the doctor’s eyes flicked unconsciously to his desk drawer, “I just
jot down my own impressions.”

“The recording device in your desk has the job of keeping my words.”
The killer’s eyes then circled the room and they spied a camera. “Are
we on video as well?”

“Does that concern you?”

“It concerns me,” the murderer chuckled, “but positively so. I didn’t
commit suicide after my murders precisely so that my motivations
could be objectively studied.”

“Let’s skip to your lack of a human conscience.”

“Instead, let’s jump to a syllogism of Aristotle’s logic. Consciousness

includes having a conscience, a sociopath is conscious and therefore a
sociopath has a conscience. A university or expert that proposes
otherwise is obviously not presenting the truth.”

“But you repress yours.”

“Actually, I don’t. I sidestep mine. The vermin I killed were of the sort
who repress.”

“How can one avoid the conscience altogether?”

“By mentally assigning the action as affecting a thing, instead of a

living being.”

“By dehumanizing your victim, like by thinking of them as vermin?”

“Police operating under their present guidelines are rodents: lawyers,
bureaucrats and politicians are certainly just leeches, sucking the
blood of our human endeavors but I had neither the means nor desire
to eradicate my victims by class.” He smiled. “There exist far more
lawyers than a lone sociopath can effectively eliminate.”

“Was that a yes or a no to my question?”

“It was a partial yes. While stalking and killing my victims, I did think
of them by the labels of their professions, as opposed to my mentally
using their names. But it was also no because the actual mechanism
for diverting my conscience was different. In my mind, I wasn’t killing
a person, a policeman, a lawyer or any individual. Instead, I was
breaking the law against murder. It’s the law’s fault that a human
needs to be standing in harm’s way when a sociopath wants to break
society’s law of murder.”

Since that was a meaty reply, the shrink was busy jotting down notes.
The killer occupied his attention with a casual look at the office décor.

“Is that your sheepskin in that off-level frame?” The psychopath asked
and then he strained his eyes. “I can’t read your alma matter from
here.”

“Is it not straight?” The doctor stood and moved to the diploma. Along
the way he said the university’s name out loud. He jigged a corner. “Is
this better?”

“Perfect.”

“Do you think of the law as if it exists as an entity?” The doctor asked.

“You do as well.” The killer whispered.

“What was that?” The man moved closer to better hear.

“I said,” the psychopath’s voice was even lower, “you do too. Though
it’s only a theoretical concept, you treat it as if it exists and that
fictional entity was in truth, the object I was striking at.” His volume
had dropped to murmuring. “Your law even treats itself as a thing: I
wasn’t charged with killing a person but rather with breaking the law of
murder.”

“That is ludicrous.” The psychiatrist might’ve been about to elaborate

but his throat was clamped in the killer’s teeth. His search for stories
had found a true non-fiction that didn’t hold a ‘happily ever after’ for
him.

The murderer had waited until his next victim had leaned in close
enough to hear. He already knew where the critical distance was, from
testing it earlier. The Adam’s apple was his target and he had turned
his head enough when striking, to bite on it. His jaw closed the
doctor’s windpipe and his purchase was sufficient to hold tightly
against the dying man’s terminal struggles. The psychopath kept his
jaw clenched, despite the blood in his mouth, until the victim’s nerves
stopped twitching.

“I told you I’d have to kill you afterwards.” He calmly said to the
corpse. “Not to keep my words a secret, but to attach a life or death,
truth or fiction impact to them.”

The end.

Am I truth or fiction?
Is a new fiction work by author Russell Twyce.

Russell Twyce Blogs

http://russelltwyce.com
http://iliveinmyscubagear.scubagearsets.com

http://shivasmessenger.com

http://nightclubsuppliesned.shivasmessenger.com

I apologize for occasional spots where usage of the phrases; search for
stories, truth or fiction, and how to make the world better might seem
forced. Writing a fiction is different from composing an article and the
repetition of key phrases like how to make the world better, truth or
fiction or search for stories is difficult to accomplish seamlessly. But to
compete for your attention on the Internet, an optimal keyword
‘density’ needs be achieved even if it needs to look obvious from time
to time.

I sincerely hope I temporarily sated your search for stories. Was it

truth or fiction? Decide for yourself and the answer might show you
how to make the world better.