Thread: Leo: Life of a Sociopath

Short story I am writing for English. Just a rough draft. Comment, critique, edit. Please. I will post updates as I get more done. Tanxy!

Leo

Sociopath, A person as a psychopath, who’s behavior is anti-social and who lacks a sense of moral responsibility or social conscience, this is how Webster’s dictionary defines me. Due to my parent’s naiveté as well as my own aptitude, it has gone unnoticed by those surrounding me. In some morbidly twisted way I am fortunate that I move soundlessly through this grotesque fog of a world, unseen by the shadows in every corner, lurking to capture the ones lacking emotion or moral. They can’t lock up what can not be seen. It is a never-ending quest to find what I have been deprived of, some would view me being without anguish or anger, and others see my deprivation of love and happiness. I guess it is a “the glass is half full or half empty” opinion. Never the less I attempted for so long to obtain the unobtainable. I wanted to feel remorse for taking advantage of my mother and father, using my intelligence and their own ignorance to betray them my entire life, but I could not. It was something that ceased to exist. I wanted to feel flattered every time a young girl pushed through the crowd, dazed in my eyes, and without any hesitance described her utter infatuation with me, but it was as if they merely asked me to step aside, and without hesitance that is what I would do. I couldn’t understand what they found so interesting about a “shy” boy, quiet, and “unwilling” to show emotion but I understood that they found me attractive. I as well would wake up in the early morning just to stare into my blue green eyes, tousle my slick black hair stuck with sweat to the nape of my neck, slip a shirt over my slightly defined masculinity, and wonder why such a monster could lavish in such unreserved beauty. As a child it was easy to pass as a young boy who was self absorbed, as an adolescent it was purely blamed on hormones. I got away with it.
Once I no longer needed to focus on hiding my illness, I embarked once again on the pursuit of the passion and sensation I lack. I began to consider the ultimate unjust. I found in others search for emotion the most potent solution was as well the most morally unsound, not that that fact had any effect on my conscience or lack there of. Two specific affairs seemed to obtain the largest emotional reaction from those who contained the ability to feel… birth being the positive alternative, death being the negative. Since I do not obtain the dexterity to give birth my only choice seemed to be the latter. If to take the soul of another human being, someone who was loved and adored, could possibly give me the rise I was looking for I was more than willing to advance in this endeavor. This consideration worried me. No… it should have worried me but pathetically it did not. At this I made my way to the local park to progress in my less than unethical actions.
Paint peeling, wood cracking, heart racing. The bench beneath me seemed beyond its natural state… a realm of the unwelcomed and trepidation. The world around me warped into an everlasting moment. They sky dripped like wet paint over the frozen characters, paused, and contiguous to me. One ripple interrupted this. One ripple more beautiful than as if sound waves could surround me, more magnificent than the first tear of our unstable shelter falling into a sea of existence. She broke the psychopathic delirium by asking my name.