The Young Psychopath

A NEW FRIEND

It had been a long while since Mrs. Evelyn asked me about my past. Now that I was part of her home, it also marked a month since I last killed anyone. It's not that I must kill—it's just a little hobby of mine, and without it, I feel bored. Her children, Peter and Rose, still treat me like a stranger, although I shouldn't be. I think it's because I hardly talk to them. I try to remain calm and observe what's happening in the house.

That night, as I was about to go to bed, Mrs. Evelyn called me over. She sat me down and talked about school, which made me remember my school days before the accident. I liked how this home felt—filled with love and attention. I became curious about how it would feel to go back to school again. The excitement made me eager to sleep. For the first time, just before closing my eyes, I said, "Good night, sister," to Rose. She didn't reply, but I smiled to myself and shut my eyes.

The next day, I waited for Peter and Rose to finish using the bathroom before heading in myself. After showering, I joined them for breakfast. Mrs. Evelyn told Peter and Rose that I would be joining them at school. Surprisingly, they acted cool about it.

After breakfast, Mrs. Evelyn drove us to school. Peter and Rose ran off to meet their friends, leaving me alone with Mrs. Evelyn. We walked together to the principal's office. Along the way, I saw students chatting, laughing, and moving around. The energy felt distant to me. In the principal's office, a lady welcomed us and asked us to sit. Mrs. Evelyn talked with the principal for about an hour, showing her some papers—likely about me. Once everything was settled, a student was called to take me to my new class. Mrs. Evelyn hugged me before I left, reminding me to wait for her after school. I nodded, and we waved goodbye.

I followed the student into a classroom full of unfamiliar faces. The teacher introduced me to the class and asked for my name. After I told them, they each took turns introducing themselves. One girl seemed timid, and when it was her turn, a boy made fun of her. The whole class laughed. I didn't care—it wasn't my problem.

The bell rang, signaling break time. Everyone left the classroom, but I stayed seated. The teacher encouraged me to go outside and get something to eat. So, I went to the cafeteria, grabbed a meat pie and juice, and sat on a bench. The same boy who teased the girl earlier tried to make fun of me, but I just stood there, staring at him until he and his friends got uncomfortable. He called me a "freak" loudly enough for others to hear, but I ignored him and enjoyed my snack.

After school, I waited outside for Mrs. Evelyn. Peter and Rose were with me, and I noticed the timid girl getting into a car. She waved at me as her car passed, but I didn't wave back. Peter asked, "Tracy, is that your new friend?" I replied with a flat "No," and looked away. A couple of minutes later, Mrs. Evelyn arrived, and we all got into the car. During the ride home, she asked how my first day went and whether I made any new friends. Peter chimed in, claiming I had made one but wouldn't admit it. I didn't argue. Instead, I smiled and stared out the window, watching the road as if I were the one driving.

The days passed with the same routine until one afternoon. After classes, Peter and I were waiting for Mrs. Evelyn when we heard shouting. Curious, we went to check. A crowd of students had gathered, and Peter squeezed through to see what was happening. When he came back, he told me, "Your friend is getting bullied." I wasn't interested; she wasn't my friend. Peter asked, "Isn't she your friend?" I sighed and pushed my way through the crowd. The bully was the same boy from before, looking smug. I stood in front of him and told him to leave her alone. He sneered at me, his eyes gleaming like a predator spotting new prey. "You want some too?" he challenged, stepping closer. My hand was in my pocket, gripping a pen. As he approached, I swiftly stabbed him in the stomach. He screamed, trying to pull the pen out, but it was embedded too deeply. His cries echoed as teachers rushed over to help.

Peter ran up to me, panicking, "Why did you do that?!" I didn't answer. Instead, I calmly walked to wait for Mrs. Evelyn. She was already parked outside. Peter and I got in the car, Rose already sitting quietly in the back. I told Peter not to say anything, and he just looked at me, then rushed into the car. We drove away in silence.

Later that evening, Mrs. Evelyn received a phone call about what had happened. She asked me what I had done, her voice trembling. I told her it was self-defense and suggested she ask Peter. She looked concerned. "Peter saw it? He was there?" she asked. I nodded.

The next day, we were summoned to the principal's office, where the boy's parents were waiting. Mrs. Evelyn asked if the boy was okay, and they reluctantly nodded, frowning. They asked me questions, but I insisted it was self-defense. His parents warned me sternly, but I only smiled, imagining the different ways I could kill them. They all stared at me, and I quickly masked my smile with a frown. Afterward, they sent me outside while they spoke in private. I sat, shaking my legs impatiently. Students who passed by glanced nervously at me. They should be scared—don't you think?

While I waited, the girl I defended, Irene, approached and sat beside me. For a while, we didn't speak. Then she thanked me for standing up for her. I shrugged and said, "It was nothing; the boy had it coming." She smiled and introduced herself as Irene. She already knew my name. As I was about to respond, the door opened, and the boy's parents left, glaring at me. Mrs. Evelyn followed, giving me a stern lecture. I listened but didn't really care.

Before leaving, the principal told me I had detention after school and not to be late. I sat there thinking how unfair it was. The boy didn't even die, so why were they all so mad at me? Maybe if I had killed him, their anger would be justified. I smiled at the thought.

Later, I returned to the principal's office and knocked. No one answered. I knocked again. Frustrated, the principal finally called out for me to come in, but I knocked once more before walking away to sit back down. When she opened the door, she asked if I was the one knocking. I lied, saying it was another student who ran off. She bought it and went to check.

While she was gone, I slipped into her office. I found a cup of tea on her desk. Looking around, I added some dirt from under my shoe, a few pills from her drawer, and even spat into the tea. Still unsatisfied, I found a bottle labeled "Tri Oxo Carbonate Acid" and poured some in. As I finished, I heard her returning, so I hid under the desk. She came in, sat down, and took a sip. Soon, she began coughing. Within moments, she stopped.

I waited under the desk, counting the seconds before emerging. The principal was dead. I briefly considered setting the school on fire, but I didn't want to hurt Irene. So, I left quietly. As I exited, Irene arrived, telling me class had started. I nodded, shutting the door behind me.

An hour later, sirens blared outside. Students rushed to the windows, but I stayed seated, doodling a burning house. Irene turned to look at me, and I glanced back at her before finishing my drawing.