How to be a Sociopath (Editing)

Entry Nine: He was wrong, this world is crazy

I laid my head against the window, getting kind of drowsy from watching the early houses pass by.

"So Chris, last time we covered your thoughts and feelings towards this world, today we need to figure out what causes them." She spoke softly, as though I'm made from fragile glass. That was the saying, wasn't it? I'm not really sure, I've never directly used to describe something or someone as that would require some kind of emotional attachment not an unbiased objective observation with no emotions hanging onto its thin threads with all it's weak grasps. It's funny, isn't it? How most of what we humans do, is influenced by emotions, not our good-willed and audience-inspiring emotions, but our deepest most secretive ones that only shed their forsaken light in our darkest hour to delude us into believing they are brighter than the sun itself. Because, temptations are strongest after a taste of desperation. "Chris, are you listening?"
"Yes." I answered absently, looking down at the ripped hems of my shirt, I should've really changed but my mother would've suspected something if I took too long.
"Are you sure?" She persisted. I sighed, turning my unchanging gaze towards her, I considered answering her already seemingly answered question with a lengthy confusing monologue, but visiting the psych ward isn't really on my bucket list at the moment.
"It's an observation." I replied.
"Excuse me?" She furrowed her eyebrows, an obvious sign of confusion. Lengthy confusing monologue it is then.
"When you see a bird in the sky, you observe that it's flying, not think that it's flying, so it's an observation not a thought. And observation are not influenced by feelings, so no we didn't cover either one of those two things." She looked at me for a number of seconds, discerning the appropriate answer.
"Not necessarily." She finally articulated. "An observation can be influenced by emotions at times, don't you think?"
"No, because then it would be an illusion."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, because things are still the way they are no matter what you feel about them, therefore causing any perception you make towards them that is even partly influenced by emotion an illusion."
"What about art?"
"What about it?"
"To observe a painting, you need to see it through an emotional point of view."
"Fool's gambit."
"Can you please explain to me what that means exactly?" Her tone was patient, she wasn't getting frustrated or irritated like most people would get at this point. Guess, that's what you'd expect from a therapist.
"Someone tries to make something worth more than it really is by giving it deeper more dramatic subtext, which in reality doesn't exist as even if a painting could really represent pain and emotion as everyone else believes then the only person who could truly observe it is the artist themselves. Because any fool can draw a field of stars and call it love."

"What did you do?!" He grabbed him by the collar.
"I asked a few questions." He shot back cooly.
"You screwed us!"
"I didn't do anything." He argued. "And nothing's going to happen."
"How do you know that?!"
"Is anyone dead?"
"What?! Why are you asking?!"
"Just answer the question."
"No, no one's dead, that's the one you didn't do!" He spoke between frantic breaths.
"Is anyone in the hospital?"
"No... no one's in the hospital." He gritted his teeth, trying to calm down his pacing anxiety.
"Is anyone injured?"
"The kid-" Antonio gave him a deadly gaze.
"Is anyone injured?"
"No, no one's injured." Rodgers answered, looking down.
"Then, nothing's going to happen." The guy out a hand on Rodger's shoulder, Antonio's cool gaze opposing his frantic filled eyes. "Come on, say it." Rodgers continued to stare at Antonio in selected silence. "SAY IT!" He bellowed, a grave contrast to his former composure. "F***ING SAY IT!"
"Nothing's going to happen." They both turned around, each as surprised as the the other.

"You use that word a lot, emotion I mean. What does it mean to you?"
"It's a contrast."
"A contrast?" She raised an eyebrow from behind her black-rimmed glasses.
"It can be both an observation or an illusion." She smiled, titling her head slightly. She has a great poker face.
"How?"
"You can observe it as it is, or you can influence how you see it and let it become an illusion."
"But how do you observe an emotion without letting it become an illusion?"
"By not having any to begin with."

"Chris, honey, we're here." I opened my eyes, the school building lingering just at the corner of my vision. With my own instinct, my gaze dropped to my hands, I could still feel it's foreboding warmth in my hand, running down drop by drop as the slow sensation of mental consciousness filled me. Finally capable of processing what happened, I lifted my head up, the sight of the car and my school disappearing into the cool grey of a concrete wall. I ran a hand through my hair, it was damp and uncomfortably sticky.

I pulled it down with calculated hesitation, the bare skin flickered to sunken red as yet again I raised my eye to the wall, a mirror standing, almost mockingly, right in front of me, more aware than I'll ever be. I was unrecognisable, my face dark and unknowingly dirty, while my clothes were neither clean nor comfortable as they were soaked through and through with what I presume to be the scarlet colour of blood, and my expression... shocked. "What did I do?"