Tyrell Shackleford
Stories (3/0)
My Story
MY STORY BEGINS LIKE MOSTS, I WAS BORN, LOVED, SHOWN OFF, BELIEVED IN, APPRPECIATED, FULL OF POTENTIAL, BUT ALL OF THAT WAS SHORT LIVED. SOON AFTER I REMEMBER MOVING FROM PLACE TO PLACE, FROM VIRINIA, TO JAPAN, TO CALIFORNIA, THEN BACK TO VIRGINIA, THEN I STARTED 3RD GRADE. MY DAD WAS IN THE MILITARY WHICH EXPLAINS WHY WE MOVED SO MUCH, AND ALSO WHY HE WASNT AROUND MUCH WHEN I WAS GROWING UP. MY MOTHER DID HER BEST RAISING 2 BOYS AND A GIRL ON HER OWN FOR THE BETTER PART OF THE 20 YEARS MY DAD SPENT IN NAVY. I REMEMBER THINKING HE'D BE AROUND MORE AFTER HE RETIRED, BUT HE ENDED UP TAKING JOBS THAT WOULD KEEP HIM GONE UNTIL 2,3,OR 4 IN THE MORNING. ALTHOUGH IT MAY SEEM AS IF HE COULDNT HAVE HAD MUCH OF AN IMPACT ON MY LIFE, HE DID IN FACT TEACH ME SOME VERY VALUABLE LESSONS THAT I STILL KEEP WITH ME TO THIS DAY. ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT BEING- MAKE THE BEST OUT OF THE TIME YOU ARE GIVEN, WHETHER IT BE 10 MINUTES OR TEN YEARS, IT'S UP TO YOU. HE MADE WE WERE NOT JUST SOME DUMB BLACK KIDS RUNNING THE STREETS AND GETTING INTO TROUBLE. HE ALWAYS MADE US ARTICULATE, HE WOULD PICK A PAGE IN THE DICTIONARY AND MAKE US READ IT THEN PICK A WORD ON THAT PAGE AND IF WE COULDNT TELL HIM THE DEFINITION, HE'D MAKE US READ IT AGAIN. I WILL FOREVER BE GRATEFUL TO HIM FOR THAT, HOWEVER, LIKE MOST KIDS, WE WEREN'T ALWAYS THE BEST LISTENERS, AND LIKE MOST PARENTS HE DID WHAT HE THOUGHT WAS THE BEST TO DICIPLINE US, AND WHAT HE THOUGHT WAS BEST IN MOST CASES INVOLED PHYSICAL REPROCUTIONS. SOMETIMES HIS HANDS, MAYBE A BELT, BUT MOST TIMES IT WAS WHATEVER WAS WITHING REACH, A FEW TIMES IT WAS A PING PONG PADDLE. MY MOTHER REALLY DIDNT HAVE TO DO MUCH OTHER THAN THREATEN US WITH TELLING OUR FATHER, UNTIL HER AIM GOT BETTER, THEN SHE WOULD JUST THROW THINGS AT US. ONCE I REACHED MIDDLE SCHOOL MY MOTHER BEGAN DOING LESS AND LESS AROUND THE HOUSE AND TREATED MY SIBLINGS AND I MORE LIKE EMPLOYEES RATHER THAN CHILDREN. I KNOW WE SUPPOSED TO DO CHORES AND WHAT NOT, BUT ARENT THE PARENTS SUPPOSED TO DO SOMETHING, I MEAN LITERALLY ANYTHING? ONCE I GOT A JOB- AT AGE 13- THEY BEGAN ASKING ME FOR MONEY, CONSTANTLY AND IT WAS THE WORST THING IN THE WORLD IF I SAID NO. IT ALWAYS SEEMED LIKE THEY WERE BROKE BUT MY DAD WOULD ALWAYS HAVE A NEW PAIR OF SHOES AND MY MOM WAS ALWAYS GETTING HER HAIR DONE. I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A PEOPLE PERSON FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEBER, IVE NEVER BEEN ONE TO SHY AWAY FROM A CONVERSATION, UNLESS IT CAME TO TALKING TO GIRLS. I JUST COULDNT GET ANY OF THEM TO LIKE ME OR WANT ME TO BE THIER BOYFRIEND, THEY ALWAYS SEEMED TO BE INTO MY FREINDS AND NOT ME, NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRIED I COULD NEVER GET ANY OF THE GIRLS THAT I ACTUALLY WANTED, I WOULD ALWAYS END UP THEIR FRIEND OR BE TOLD THAT IM SUCH A NICE GUY OR GIRLS LIKE A GUY WITH MORE SELF CONFIDENCE. IT WAS IN MY HIGH SCHOOL YEARS THAT I REALLY GAVE UP ON BELEIVING IN MYSELF, I STOPPED TRYING TO GET THE GIRLS THAT I THOUGHT WERE ATTRACTIVE AND I BEGAN TO JUST SETTLE FOR WHOEVER GAVE ME ATTENTION, ALSO, JUST TO FIT IN I'D DATE WHATEVER GIRL WAS WILLING JUST SO I WOULDNT HAVE TO SAY THAT I WAS ALONE. I WAS NEVER A PRIORITY IN MY OWN LIFE AT THIS POINT, I TOLD MYSELF THAT AS LONG AS I WAS MAKING SOMEONE ELSE HAPPT THEN I WOULD BE HAPPY. I'D DATE A GIRL BECAUSE SOMEONE WOULD TELL ME SHE LIKED ME, DIDNT MATTER THAT IF SHE SAT ON MY LAP YOU COULDNT SEE ME UNDER HER, SHE WAS HAPPY. I PLAYED FOOTBALL TO MAKE MY DAD HAPPY. ID GO SHOPPING WITH MY FRIENDS AND LITERLLY BUY THE SAME EXACT CLOTHES AS THEM BECAUSE I FIGURED IF I LOOKED LIKE THEM THEY'D LIKE ME MORE AND MAYBE THEY'D TREAT ME THE WAY THAT I TREATED THEM, BUT THAT WAS SIMPLY NOT THE CASE, I WAS A PUSH-OVER, I WOULD ALWAYS PUT MYSELF BENEATH OTHERS BECAUSE MY HAPPINESS NEVER SEEMED TO MATTER, AND IT SEEMED LIKE IT NEVER WOULD. I BEGAN GETTING USED TO TAKEN ADVANTAGE OF, SO MUCH SO THAT ID STAND UP FOR THOSE WHO WERE TAKING ADVANTAGE OF ME WHEN SOMEONE WOULD TELL ME THAT THEY ARE TREATING MY LIKE SHIT. I JUST WANTED TO BE THE PERSON THAT SOMEONE ELSE REALLY TRUELY TRIED TO MAKE HAPPY, AND IT NEVER HAPPENED, UNTIL I TURNED 18. ON MY 18TH BIRTHDAY I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO A RANDOM GIRL THAT I MET THE DAY BEFORE AT THE ARCADE. MY FRIENDS PARENTS WERE OUT OF TOWN SO I TOOK HER OVER TO HIS PLACE AND FUCKED HER ON HIS MOTHERS BED. 2 DAYS LATER I WAS WALKING HOME FROM A NIGHT OUT WITH A FRIEND OF MINE AND I BEGAN HAVING EXCRUTIATING PAIN IN MY DICK. I DECIDED TO TAKE A LOOK AND I WAS MORTIFIED, IT LOOKED AS IT THE TIP OF MY PENIS HAD BEEN TURNED INSIDE OUT, BUT I STILL HAD TO WALK THE REST OF THE WAY HOME. AS SOON AS I GOT HOME I WRAPPED IT IN TISSUE PAPER AND CONTINUED TO DO SO EVERYDAY FOR MONTHS. I WOULD USE SCOTCH TAPE TO KEEP IT ON. 3 MONTHS LATER ONE SUNDAY AFTERNOON AFTER CHURCH WE WENT OUT TO EAT AND I WENT TO THE RESTROOM AND MY FATHER CAME WITH ME. AS WE STOOD NEXT TO EACH OTHER AT THE URINAL HE NOTICED THE WHAT I LATER CALLED MY DICK CAP IN MY HAND AND ASKED ME WHAT IT WAS. I TOLD HIM IT WAS MY PUNISHMENT FROM GOD FOR HAVING PREMARITAL SEX, AND HE WAS PRETTY SURPRISED FOR QUITE A FEW REASONS. IT WAS LATER DETERMINED THAT I HAD BOTH GONEREA AND CLAMYDIA, AFTER THAT I DIDNT HAVE SEX FOR 2 YEARS. THE VERY NEXT GIRL I HAD SEX WITH WAS THE FIRST GIRL I SAID I LOVE YOU TO, SHE CHEATED ON ME THREE DAYS LATER AND THEN SHE GOT HERPES, I HAD ALREADY LEFT HER BY THE TIME SHE GOT HERPES, BUT I STILL DROVE HER TO HER APPOINTMENTS WHEN SHE'D HAVE AN OUTBREAK. THIS OF COURSE TURNED ME OFF TO SEX AND LOVE AT THE SAME TIME. I REMEMBER TELLING MY FATHER I DONT KNOW WHAT LOVE IS, AND HE HIT ME IN THE FACE AND SAID THATS WHAT LOVE IS, AND FROM WHAT I COULD TELL, HE WASNT WRONG, LOVE HURTS, SO I SAID FUCK LOVE, I DONT WANT IT. I BEGAN NEGLECTING MY OWN DESIRE TO FIND IT, I WOULD BOUNCE AROUND FROM JOB TO JOB WHICH LEAD TO ME MOVING IN AND OUT OF MY PARENTS HOUSE MULTIPLE TIMES, I COULDNT AFFORD A CAR OR MY OWN PLACE, BUT I COULD ALWAYS BUY A 40 OR A CHEAP BOTTLE ADN DRINK IT ON MY PARENTS DRIVEWAY BECAUSE THEY WOULDNT ALLOW ALCOHOL IN THE HOUSE. I WOULD DRINK TO FEEL NUMB, ESCAPE FROM THE PAIN OF LONELINESS INSIDE ME. ID NEVER OPEN UP TO ANYONE ABOUT HOW I REALLY FELT, I WOULD JUST PUT ON A HAPPY FACE BECAUSE ALL ANYONE WANTED TO DO WAS GET FUCKED UP, SO GETTING FUCKED UP BECAME SOMETHING I WAS GOOD AT. OF COURSE THAT LED TO MULTIPLE DRUNK IN PUBLIC ARREST, BUT IT ALSO MADE ME FEEL WANTED. PEOPLE WOULD ALWAYS WANT TO HEAR MY STORIES ABOUT HOW MUCH I DRANK OR HOW MY NIGHT IN JAIL WENT, ID NEVER TELL THEM ABOUT THE PISS STAINED MATTRESS THAT ID SLEEP ON BECAUSE ID BE TO DRUNK TO GO TO THE RESTROOM, ID NEVER TELL THEM ABOUT HOW DISSAPPOINTED MY PARENTS WERE BECAUSE THEIR 24 YEAR OLD SON IS STILL LIVING IN THIER HOUSE WITH NO JOB, NO CAR, NO LICENSE, AND NO DESIRE TO BETTER HIMSELF. AT 25 I BEGAN WORKING AT NISSAN, EVERY PERSON THAT TRAINED ME, I TOOK THEIR JOB, I ROSE THROUGH THE RANKS EFFORTLESSLY. AFTER 3 YEARS THERE WAS ONLY 3 PEOPLE IN THE ENTIRE COMPANY ABOVE ME, AND ONE OF THEM WAS THE OWNER. IN 2013 I BEGAN DOING STANDUP COMEDY AND WITHOUT THE WORDS I LEARNED FROM MY FATHERS UNOTHEDOX DICIPLINE, AND MY MOTHERS UNWAVERING COMPASSION I WOULDNT BE ABLE TO SIT HERE AND SAY THAT THE LITTLE BOY WHO WAS BORN ON OCTOBER 13, 1984 IS LOVED, WORTHY OF BEING SHOWN OFF, BELIEVED IN, APPRECIATED, AND LIVING UP TO HIS POTENTIAL.
By Tyrell Shackleford3 years ago in Motivation
Price 1
I'm going to go ahead and tell you who the killer is, his name is Craig Price. In 1976 running around the streets of Rhode Island at the age of 3 Craig was struck by a vehicle. Four years later, at age 7, he is hit in the head by rock, and the very next year breaks his collarbone. Growing up African American in the 70's, Mr. Price was no stranger to adversity, but you'd never know it. As time passed Craig grew at an alarming rate, by the age of thirteen he weighed just over two-hundred and fifty pounds! Of course! Of course, he played football, you can't be that big and black and not play football, and he loved it, and people loved him. Always had a smile on his child-like face, although it sat atop a mountain of a mans body. People often came to Craig when they needed a laugh or whenever they were having an issue with their bike. Craig loved his bike, he'd ride it everywhere, to school, the store, or just for no reason at all. He knew everything there was to know about all kinds of bikes and he was always willing to share his knowledge with others. Craig was also never one to back down from a challenge, so when one of his friends showed up with a new bike (claiming to be faster than Craig's) asking if anyone wanted to race, OF COURSE, Craig obliged. They get up to the starting line when Craig notices a car pull up behind them. The countdown begins "ON YOUR MARK!....." a boy shouts! "YOU'RE GONNA LOOOOOOOSE N***!" erupts from the vehicle. "GET SET!!" Craig clinches his new re-gripped handlebars, kicks up some dirt with his personally customized sneakers, bends his knees slightly and prepares for what he calls his "signature take-off." "GO!" Bystanders are engulfed in plumes of dirt and rocks. The fog dissipates and we see that the vehicle has now joined the race. With ease they catch up to Craig and begin to disrupt his ascension to a clear victory. Craig uses every muscle in his larger than life legs just to keep his back tire off of their front bumper. As they hurl garbage and racial slurs they pull up beside just to make sure one of them lands a fat spitball right on Craig's mouth! The sky, the ground, the sky again, the ground again, Craig took a tumble. That spitball did not just land on Craig's lip, but it landed Craig in the losers circle. He couldn't get over it, He just couldn't let it go, He keeps replaying the sound of the engine in his head. Their slurs still echoing in his head like some sort insane kindling that would ignite a racist rage that would burn within Craig for the rest of his life. In his room that night He is still trying to shake the frustration, but he just can't. He smoked as much weed ass humanly possible but it still wasn't enough, He still needed to release this fury. "Murder. That's what I'll do. I'll kill those racist mother fuckers." Craig thinks as he feels a wave of calm rush over him as if like a cool breeze in the summer heat. He smiles. Then snaps back to reality, smokes a little more, but then here comes that rage again. This time it's different, this time, it's demanding! This time it wants blood. Returning to the thoughts of murder soothed Craig so much that he decided to take his bike out and see if he can find that car from earlier. I mean Craig had no intention of actually going and murdering these guys, he just wanted to look at their faces and imagine putting their tongues through the spokes in his bike. There it is! Parked in front of a house with no lights on. "They must be asleep" Craig thought. He silently creeps around to the back of the house where he sees through the window a woman sleeping on the floor. His heart races, he breathes in deeply, wipes the sweat from his brow, breathes out and makes his way into the house through the back door. Bewildered, and now standing in the kitchen, Craig takes a moment to marinate in the pleasure that is pulsating through his entire body. "I'm really going to kill someone!" Craig grabs a knife from the block on the countertop. He takes a few practice stabs, smiles a bit, and makes his way into the living room. He sees a young, attractive, white woman lying on the floor in front of a television set showing static. The light from the television illuminates her body in a way that Craig felt it would be the template for the masterpiece of revenge he was about to create. Craig, now down on one knee, waves one hand over her hips and the back up around her face and then down to her neck. The other hand holds the knife at the end of his fully extended, yet surprisingly still arm. Craig cannot wait to plunge the blade into her, he wraps both hands around the handle of the blade, up and then down, it's in! One stab complete! Two, three, seven, fifteen, thirty, forty, fifty..... ( ok you get it ) Craig is in a state of euphoria that can only be explained as pure bliss, well, as much bliss that you can have being thirteen and a killer. Blood now soaking his entire body he stands to look at what he had done. Headlights flash across the back wall as car pulls into the driveway. Craig wasn't to keen on the idea of becoming a serial killer on his first night as a killer so he dashes out the back door. Craig hides in the bushes and waits until the people go inside then races home. In his backyard, Craig removes all of his clothes and puts them in the dumpster. He uses the garden hose to rinse of the remaining blood, which proved to be difficult as most of it adhered to his skin during his bike ride home. Realizing the hose is pointless Craig goes inside, butt naked, hides the murder weapon in his closet, takes a shower, and goes to bed. The next morning Craig is awakened by the sound of his screaming his name. "Yes?" replies Craig. "Come down here this instant!" With every ounce of his being Craig had to act like nothing had happened as he approached his obviously upset father. "Didn't I tell you to take the trash cans to the curb last night!? Today is trash day." Craig, no relieved, pretends to be bothered by the menial task, but on the inside he's rejoicing. As Craig puts the lid on the trash can he notices a police car approaching. Craig frozen in shock is locked in a staring contest that he did not sign up for! The officer slows down, he stops, rolls his window down, takes off his glasses, and says "Tell you momma to be careful around here, some giant manic hacked up a woman pretty good down the street. I don't think you gotta worry though, this guy kills whites it seems" Craig leans in, now intrigued "What else can you tell me about the MAN, the ADULT MAN, that did this?" The officer replies "Biiiiiiiggg mother fucker. Strong too, and he really must have hated her. I mean, the stab wounds alone were enough, but all the broken bones... Insane! Well, anyways, like I said, he killed a white woman so your mom being black just might be a good thing for once." Craig forces out a fake smile and turns back towards his house, when a familiar feeling arises....................
By Tyrell Shackleford3 years ago in Criminal
Starting at the End
My story begins much like anyone else, I begrudgingly worked a 9 to 5 stuck in the monotony that is a Monday - Friday routine. I hated it! Every second I felt myself slowly suffocating. It was like being killed in a crockpot set on low. I wanted so badly to leave but I had to stay because, like most, I have a wife, 2 children (ages 6 and 11) and a house to pay for; so I stayed. I stayed through all of the bullshit, through all of the painful mornings contemplating suicide as I drive down the 2 lane road I take to work. "I just need to turn the wheel the slightest bit to the left and BAM! An entire month off of work." I would say to myself as I chew back a belch that reminds me how hungover I am. Most days my coworkers found joy in our interactions, we would speak of shenanigans of the past or things we've got planned for the weekend, maybe even a joke or two. Then there were days when I would go of on tangents asking questions like "Doesn't a coma sound good for a little while? Not like a serious one, just a month or so?" I just wanted to do nothing! Absolutely nothing. I was tired of the constant sales goals and customer retention and the blatant disrespect. In 2013 I took a standup comedy class. In this class I was under the impression I would learn how to become a standup comedian. I should have known that wasn't true immediately because in the first class the teacher tried to sell us his book on real estate. He dropped a stack in the center of the giant table we were all sitting around and grumbled "$20 each, and its only that price because you're my students." I will go ahead and say I didn't learn much about how to be a comic from that class, but if you need a good deal on a house, I know a guy. I did learn one thing from that class, and that is the fact that there is a 350 homosexual ginger man out there who is obsessed with Lucille Ball, and that he and his, equally as large, partner reenact scenes from "I Love Lucy" every Friday night in an apartment they rent from his mothers wealthy boy toy. I digress, with the help of this class I entered into the world of standup comedy and I was hooked. I'd always told people I have an addictive personality, and there is no better drug than pure, uncut laughter. Creating those moments where people are falling over in there seats, or shaking their heads and bending over forwards and as they lean back up they clap their hands. Literally undescribable. To put it into words wouldn't do it justice. At best, sex is a close second. I love comedy so much that as of January 29, 2021 I will no longer have that job I spoke so highly of earlier. I QUIT! I am now devoting 100 percent of my time to becoming a professional standup comedian. This is more than just a fresh start, its the end of a grueling journey. I am done with painful life line. I am leaving behind $70,000 a year, and walking out into this sick sad world and I am going to make a name for myself. This is my first official submission on this platform and I am not even really sure I did this write. I just figured the timing couldn't be any better. I have a Youtube channel where you can follow my progress. I will be uploading a video every 2 days to show my progress. Thank you for reading, and I also hope I uploaded my video correctly. Search Tyrell Shackleford and you will find me.
By Tyrell Shackleford3 years ago in Journal