The Face of Dysfunction

by Sara Niles

Short Read: Nonfiction Narrative

An intense and insightful examination of the most dangerous people in society and how they became killers.

True Crime Cases of Heinous Killers
Psychological and insightful Analysis
Extreme Violence
Domestic Homicide & Mass Murders
Psychological &Sociological Insight
Narcissism and The Dark Triad

The Face of Dysfunction begins with the worst of the worst: The Killers.

Dysfunction is a toxic mold that destroys everything it touches, invading families, and creating a slow rot of the family structure. The most extreme dysfunction exhibited by the most violent among us, is by the killers who defy the laws of man and God. These corrupt and evil people exchange the value of human lives for the temporary appeasement of their fragile egos; all in a futile attempt to fill the voids of their empty souls. Unfortunately, this type of violence is not rare, and the perpetrators are more common than imagined.

They are Among Us
Deceitful and dangerous people walk among us, wearing masks that hide the deep-rooted evil that grows within them until it erupts into murderous rampages. They are The Killers: the School Shooters, the Spree Killers, Mass Murderers and Family Killers. These people live in our homes, share our meals, attend our churches, and work in our police forces, while hiding in plain sight.

Nature? Nurture? Or Both?
People are not born psychopaths filled with hatred, they evolve into monsters in increments, so the changes are barely perceptible to those closest to them. Lies and Secrecy cloak the dark side, as they nurture secret vendettas, and collect grudges while presenting a public face of normalcy. The secret darkness of the heart of a killer remains hidden, until it spawns something unspeakably horrible that leaves a trail of blood and death behind.
Thousands of innocent people of all ages, die annually in the United States by the hands of arrogant, self-entitled killers with God complexes, going on killing sprees like it was a normal deer hunt. The rough estimates of the total deaths from domestic homicides, spree killings, and mass murders, is akin to the casualties of war, instead of the work of lone individuals. It all begins with dysfunction, whether the dysfunction begins within the families of origin, or dysfunction is manufactured in secrecy and nurtured in the black chambers of the minds of its evil creators. Adult killers often report harboring dark fantasies as adolescents, creating a perfect breeding ground for violence in later life.

Dysfunction begins in the microsystem of a family, with attachment failures, attitudes, and patterns that do not register on behavioral radars. When the dysfunctional child harbors beliefs and feelings that becomes behaviors, such as pet killing, dishonesty, and abuse of siblings, most parents recognize it and put a stop to it, leaving a clear path for the development of healthy consciences and human attachments; however, If childhood dysfunction is not detected early, and eliminated, it will grow and spread. Like Toxic Black Mold, rampant dysfunction extends outwards into communities and societies, damaging and destroying, until the attitudes and values of the culture itself is tainted and weakened. The first sign of culture shock is the presence of the jaded masses. Violence is a constant and relentless deluge flooding the media twenty-four hours a day, leaving the public no choice but to shut down.

We Can Not Change what we Do Not understand. The first step is Education.

The First Subject is The Killers. Who are they and how were they created?

34 pages, Kindle Edition

First published March 1, 2012

About the author

Sara Niles is a Memoirist, Essayist, and Nonfiction Author on a lifelong mission.

Driven by Inner Passions, Victor vows to kill the monster:
“I have but one resource; and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to his destruction.”
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley


Passion fueled by pain propels the greatest artists of our times, as it has done for thousands of years. Humans are emotionally driven more than any other beings. We built pyramids, statues, create art on cathedral ceilings, sing songs that stir the soul, and we write, casting words onto stone walls, papyrus, and leather tomes, which has evolved in today’s vast digital cyber-market, forcing would be authors to vie for space and chance to be seen in a competitive cyberspace filled with millions of productions of electronic books, and guarded by stingy and suppressive algorithms. In short, it is difficult for any author, good, great, or bad, to be discovered. Today it is easier to publish books, if you are driven to do so, but it is nearly impossible to be discovered; so why even bother to write at all?

Necessity Compels Me

Over six decades of life history steadily recedes in the rearview mirror of my life, as time relentlessly moves on, steady and unstoppable. Each day that passes is another lost chance of being recognized, discovered, appreciated, and read. A book unread is like a tree in the forest that is cut down-who hears it fall, does it make a sound at all? If I wrote solely for the financial reward, I would have starved to death years ago, and if I wrote for recognition, I would have given up, but neither of those two reasons are the primary motivators for me. I write from a place so deep in my soul that I could not stop if I wanted to, because writing has become a life-saving mission for me. It is an inextinguishable fire that grows as time passes. I must get these words out ‘there’ into the world, as my legacy, the most valuable thing I can give to the world. Maya Angelou, the world’s sage, once said ‘if you want to know me, you have to know where I have been;’ and yes, I have read all her writings, among thousands of other richly endowed literary giants, past and present. The point is you must know the backstory to know me.

Backstory

My mother did me one great favor when I was born, she kept me alive long enough to give me away to elderly relatives who had been childless in their young lives, so they blessed me as a God-given gift like that given to Sarah and Abraham of old. I was their treasure, and as such the entire clan of relatives rushed to my rescue, lavishing me with sage wisdom, although I did not value it as such then. The Legend of Bob White raised me himself, a man who ran away at sixteen after his father died, because his mother shamed him at the church Christmas party. Bob, who was otherwise known as Robert then, tore the eight-foot-tall tree down, sent gifts flying as women shrieked, and ran away. Thirty years passed as successes, disasters and tragedies followed, compelling Robert Howard to return to the land that had been his boyhood home, where he created a paradise, a farm rich with fruit trees, flowers, and farm animals.
It was to this ‘Flowerbed of Eden’ when I was three- and one-half years old that I was hoisted upon the shoulders of an old man whom I would later know to be a ‘giant’ among men. The day my ancient savior took me home was the most unforgettable day of my life, a transformative day that changed who I would later become. My great uncle was born in the late 1800’s, having his own backstories embedded in a cruel past in which his blood relatives were both White and Black, as he was the son of a father who had endured slavery by his own kin, his own White father, and slave mother. My great-uncle was a wonderful storyteller who performed as an orator of family history, one story involved the value of the land held in trust by families of the post slavery times. The land was the only surety in the fa