Feel

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    'Jesus Christ... The human body is utterly ridiculous. Honestly, the amount of blood we need to function on a daily basis is astonishingly unnecessary. Why do we need so much blood? Honestly, its quite the burden.'

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CHAPTER ONE: THE JANITOR.

  When I was 10 years old, my dad got me a bird. To be fair, I did tell him that I did not wish to have one.

  However, one dreadful afternoon my mom got home from work, she placed a metal wire cage on my bed. Inside was a small yellow bird. I looked at my mom blankly.

    "What is this?"

  She nudged the cage closer to me with a pathetically hopeful smile on her face, I could see her yearning for any sort of reaction out of me. 
  
    "Its your first pet honey! Its a pretty birdy!"

  In a feeble attempt to satisfy my mom i placed my finger against the cage and..

  It bit me.

         "But mom... I dont wish to have a bird."
                                    ...

  Over a short course of time i suppose my curiosity got the best of me.

    'What exactly were birds made out of anyway?'

  In my defense, I was having quite the bad day. That being said, rounds of therapy did imply that a bad day was no excuse for dissecting a bird. 

  I've had the same regular therapist since that day. Bob. He's a fifty one, approximately 275 lb man with hardly any hair and a voice that's probably way to high pitched for a man if his size.

  He tells me that just because killing the bird made me feel better, doesn't necessarily mean that its the right thing to do. Of course that bird wasn't the last thing i killed. I had been preparing. Pretending. I had been building up an immunity to death since I can remember. I had plans for the world, for my life. I was going to do it, all starting today.

  I grabbed a red velvety bag off of the kitchen table. Beside it was a brown paper bag with my name on it. Nick. I grabbed it too. I swung the red bag onto my back, and took exactly 15 steps before I passed a silver cylinder trash can and stuffed the brown bag inside. I wasn't going to be hungry today. I needed to be sharp. Focused. And moms tuna salad was just not going to do. Not today. Today was an occasion. Because today, I was going to do it. I was going to make my first kill.

  I took 36 steps to my bus. Then I walked up four steps. I passed 6 seats before I sat in seat number 7. My seat. I sat there every day. I sit criss crossed because I don't like it when my feet touch the bus floor. I don't like the vibrations.

  The doctors say Im a genius for my age. I don't disagree with them. My current IQ is exactly 160, that which ties with the notorious Albert Einstien. However, the doctors also say I suffer from Obsessive-compulsive disorder. In other words. (OCD).

    "Its a mental disorder in which people have unwanted and repeated thoughts, feelings, ideas, sensations (obsessions), and behaviors that drive them to do something over and over. (compulsions),"

      -to quote the text books.

  I don't think it's an awful thing. If anything it helps me keep things in check. Clean. Composed.

  The doctors seem to know a lot. But they don't know it all. I'm smarter than them. I only let them see what I want them to see. I'm much more than a 17 year old smarty-pants who suffers from (OCD). I'm also a sociopath.
    Self diagnosed of course.
        High functioning obviously.