Confessions of a teenage sociopath

A dark beginning

The world was dark when she entered, she with the auburn hair and the dull gray eyes. She who was stoic as the blindfold was removed from her eyes, revealing the scene of a bare basement, walls seeping with water from the slightly moistened clay walls, the only furniture in sight two wooden chairs, to one of which she was bound with sturdy rope.  The other in which sat an unremarkable man, unremarkable due to his bland clothing and hidden face. A black hoodie, tied so that his face was hidden by the hood, and jeans. She herself had been stripped near bare, given only the modesty of an old bra and pair of panties for covering. A single chain dangling above provided illumination from an old bulb, flickering in the darkness.

A familiar set up for her, she who felt nothing. And one for the man as well, the smell of rotting flesh permeating the air told the story well enough. She was not the first within these walls and upon that chair. Nor would she be the last, given this man's say. But that bothered her none, what she cared about was the fact that he was here, in utter silence, just staring at her. Normal routine was she would wake up alone, without anyone. Why was this one...

Her thoughts were interrupted most rudely by a small question posed to her. "Regret anything?"

Did she regret anything? She almost laughed, and upon second thought allowed herself a small chuckle. Looking up at the man, blowing a stray piece of hair out of her face, she smiled cooly and replied. "You and I both know the question's answer. So why don't you tell me if I regret anything? And while your at it, why you're even here talking right now."

He seemed to smile, or so the small shift around the oral area of his hoodie suggested.  "Why, for your confession of course. It's been a while since your last church session hasn't it?"

He wasn't wrong, she hadn't been to church in, what was it, 13 years now? That'd put her at age 4 when she last went to confession. Or anything to 'cleanse the soul'. Her parents had been adamant about it, all the way to their demise. And seeing as she couldn't feel much in her legs, it was unlikely she would be able to walk to church anytime soon, or out of cellars. So she figured there wasn't much harm in humoring him. "Alright then, I suppose it's fair enough. What do you want to hear?"

He sat back, leaning into his seat casually, like one would do when watching a movie. Or theater. "Everything."

She grinned, feigning interrest in his desire for knowledge perfectly. "As you wish. I don't remember much, so I'll take you back a few years... thirteen to be presice. The year was 2000, and my family had just returned from church. I didn't know it but this day was important for me. It was the day I realized the truth about me and everyone. Why I was always different. It had been earlier before church confessions that I had realized I had nothing I regretted, though I was far from clean. Petty thefts, little beatings I gave enemies at school. Things any child should've regretted. But not I. And when we were at home I realized why, I couldn't feel emotion. It was fabricated, life. Everything meaningless."

"Of course it was. Now go on."

She rolled her eyes before continuing, "And then I wanted to test it, be sure of it all. I walked up to my mother, our sunday best having been stained by a puddle while entereing and her busy with cleaning what she could. I held out my arms and said in the most childish way possible, 'Mommy I wuv you'. She smiled and returned the affection, clearly emotional. But I felt nothing. No emotion at all. But I pretended that I could and just hugged her back when she picked me up."

He seemed intrigued, a little like a scientist watching a petri dish with bated breath for the colinization of bacteria. "Fascinating, go on."

"That was the day I discovered what I was, though it wouldn't be for many years that I would learn the name."

"Sociopath."

"Yes now please pipe down hun, it's story time." The slitghtly irritated stance in his sittting gave him away, and almost made her feel some small emotion. Almost. "My first was three months later. And my second too, to be entirely honest. I was home from school, and had set my bag on the table. The shake that it caused had spilled some juice onto the floor, and my father came in and yelled at me. He had never been a kind man, I got his eyes you know, the dull gray. Mom's hair though, dad was a dumb blonde if ever there was one." She shook her head in exhasperation before continuing.

"I just stood there, waiting patiently for his temper tantrum to end. And then it hit me-"

"A realazation?"

"No you imbicile! Now cease talking before I end it myself. No, what hit me was his hand, something new from his newly developed habit of drinking. This ended it for me, self control. I turned to the table and grabbed a fork off the table. Before my dad could even see what had happened, I was already on him, sinking the fork into his neck flesh and viens over and over. My mother hadn't returned from work yet, and so she couldn't answer my father's pleas for help. I don't remember how long it took, but he finally shut up and ended his tantrum. The red on the floor mixed with the juice, almost beautifully. The fork had transformed into a piece of modern art though, the teeth mangled together. I would sell it a few years later to an art museum for a couple hundred."

She rolled her neck to relax her muscles and nodded. "Mind if I have a drink of water?" He shrugged and offered her a water bottle, taking a sip before continuing. "As it was I would never be able to hide everything from mom, so I planned it out. I hid dad's body in the bed, scrubbing all the blood away before mom got home. Then I took the petals off her roses and lead them to the room, scented candles as well, and turned off the lights. Then I took a tool better for murder and lay in wait beneath the bed, the kitchen cleaver. "

"The next two hours for her to arrive were dull, but filled with anticipation, the only thing I ever really felt. The wait. Then I heard her gasp of surprise, and I tightened my grip on the cleaver. I could hear her footsteps, first with shoes, then without. I knew what she was doing, she was stripping for her husband. By the time I saw her frame in the doorway, entirely bare and naked for my view. I saw what my father saw in her, and had she not the need to die I would've taken her for my own, if I could've held her captive on my own. As it was she approached too fast for me to stop her, she jumped onto the bed unaware of her husband's dead state. I sprung into action in that moment, her scream filling the previously romantic room when she realized her husband was dead. I was merciful, she never saw me."

"The cleaver dug deep into her neck, severing her spinal cord in moments. Within all rights, shortly after hitting the bed she was dead. But that wasn't enough for me. I hacked at her body, almost furious that I had been denied the pleasure of owning such a woman for my own by fate. Though I felt nothing I pretended I did, and it faked enough joy that I could fool myself for a while. Hacking at her, the blood from her naked body began to cover and seep into the bed and my school uniform, her dull, lifeless green eyes staring at the ceiling while I eviscerated her, ripping her guts out from inside her. Having her entire internal organ systems laying beside her, removed from her, was a fantastic experience I would repeat several times. It was a joy."

The man was silent, and she continued.

"The next day the cops arrived to find my mom and dad dead, laying together in their bed, seemingly to have been raped and then ripped apart. And they found a little girl in the corner of her closet, pretending to be curled up and shivering in fear. But of course, it was only me getting some shut eye. Spending a whole evening and night murdering your parents takes a little while and a little bit out of you. And thus began my story."

Silence, then a nod. "We will continue in the morning. I must rest though, goodnight murderer." The man walked to the door, flicking a switch as he shut the door.

And the world returned to darkness.