A Measure of Greatness

Question: How do you let people know about something great you've done, if doing so will get you in trouble?

Answer:

December 5.

Jackson broke his arm on the playground today. It was a compound fracture, both bones probably broken but only the radial compounded. He fell off the monkey bars. He's fallen off before, so have I. But this time it was different, he fell on his arm at the perfect angle. I stood over him, watching him bleed, watching his face turn white and his eyes roll back into his head. He screamed at first, but there's always screaming so none of the teachers even noticed him. His blood mixed with the woodchips beneath him, turning them red. I had an urge to touch it, to see if it was real, like mine. But I didn't want to dirty my clothes.

This isn't the first time I've seen someone else hurt, but this was by far the worst injury I've ever seen. I don't know why it fascinates me to see them in pain. I often wonder if they are pretending it hurts. Logically it doesn't make sense, but it's hard to imagine anything else. They just aren't as real as me.

Which is an excellent segue to my next point. Dr. "Steve," who, for reasons known only to himself, believes me incapable of pronouncing his real surname Streibach, has not gotten any closer to diagnosing me. He still believes I lie on the autism scale and might have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or possibly Oppositional Defiance Disorder. I enjoying playing games with him. Sometimes I'll close the door to his office an odd number of times, counting, other times I leave it slightly ajar, as if I forgot altogether to close it. It's very funny to watch him scribble notes about it.

While Streibach continues to muddle about in his own staggering incompetence, I may have discovered the root of my, shall we say, grandness. It happened quite by accident. I wandered into the biography section of the public library during "Story time." There I found a book about a man named Theodore Bundy, a famous serial killer active in the 1970's. I found his story fascinating, especially the description of his murders. Like me he found it difficult to relate to others, and couldn't understand why people would seek out friendships. The book described him as a textbook sociopath. I did further research and believe I too am a sociopath. I will continue operating under this assumption until I find a better diagnosis.

In the new year I will begin adding the year in the date of my entries, I didn't think to keep this up for more than a year, but it's important a record of my existence be minutely detailed and as extensive as possible. I know I am great, and destined for great things. I want the world to see my greatness.

It was an exceedingly wise decision to keep two seperate journals. Mother no longer asks what I'm writing, as I often leave the decoy journal open or unlocked. I've been copying the entries from a site online and changing the names and dates to fit my life. I want my parents to leave me alone and yet I crave their attention. I don't know why. I don't know if this is normal or if I want it to be normal.

December 6.

This portion of my daily writing relates to the entry on November the 29th. As I mentioned earlier, we have mice. This is no doubt due to my stupid younger sister, Samantha's inability to get food in her mouth. When I was 18 months old I could eat perfectly well. But I digress. We have mice, and after much cajoling, screaming, begging and tantrums, I managed to convince my parents to use "humane" mouse traps, i.e. traps which merely capture the mouse alive as opposed to killing it. They actually thought it was promising, assuming that I was somehow troubled by the prospect of killing the mouse.

The truth, of course, is that I wanted to experiment on the mouse. As I have mentioned in several entries, I desire to be a scientist, probably in biological sciences. My idol was Louis Pastuer, though that may be changing, as I will explain below. A mouse was caught in a trap under the basement steps. I found him before Father got home and stole away with him to my room. I want to know if his pain is real, or if it's something pretend. I've designed an experiment to do this and am excited to begin first thing tomorrow.

Dr. Streibach wants me to sit through another I.Q. test. He thinks I "gamed" the last one. He asked me about it during my session today. He said "Richard, why didn't you try your hardest on the test I gave you last month?"

I told him, "I did, Dr. Steve. It was really hard."

"I know you're smarter than this test shows. I want to talk about the letter C today," he said.

I almost laughed. I didn't want to score too well on the test so I began marking the letter C for questions for which I knew C was not the proper answer. It was just a distraction during the otherwise boring test. He must have noticed that most, if not all, of the wrong answers were C's and that I rarely, if ever, got a question wrong if the answer was in fact C. It took me a few moments to figure out how to turn this to my advantage. I decided to play Obsessive Compulsive today, though I'd left the door open.

"I knew C wasn't the right answer on some Dr. Steve," I said trying to sound ashamed. For some reason they like it when you sound ashamed, as if they enjoy other people's pain or discomfort. (Note: Experiment with this in Mother or Father. See if they enjoy seeing me in physical pain, then see if they prefer to see me sad.)  "I just felt like something bad would happen if I didn't mark C."

"But you didn't mark all of the answers C," Dr. Streibach observed.

"I didn't always feel like something bad would happen," I replied.

He was scribbling furiously. "Why did you sometimes feel like something bad would happen and sometimes didn't? What was different between these questions?"

I shrugged and watched Dr. Streibach's expression change. The emotion, unless I've guessed wrong, was "crestfallen." I've observed it on Mother's face when she gets a bad report from my teachers after a few weeks of good reports. I don't think I can emulate it yet, but soon I may be able to. I will continue to try and produce it in those around me.

I also continued an experiment I began yesterday shortly after writing in my secret journal. I asked people who Ted Bundy was, as "Ted" is the more familiar name for Theodore Bundy whom I mentioned above. Additionally, I asked them who Louis Pastuer was. I was surprised to learn that almost every adult knew exactly who Mr. Bundy was, but only a handful knew Louis Pastuer. It is no exageration to say Dr. Pastuer saved millions of lives with his breakthroughs. Mr. Bundy on the other hand killed less than one hundred people; and yet people see him as the greater man.

With this discovery in mind, I no longer consider Dr. Pastuer my idol and instead believe Theodore Bundy is the man more worthy of my esteem. His fame does not arise from anything other than the gruesome nature of his crimes. Further, I am intrigued by the idea of Mr. Bundy's exploits because I find the idea of pain in others fascinating. Though, I still very much would like to be a scientist.

PS I heard my parents having sex last night. It made me angry because I don't want another sibling. Samantha is bad enough as it is.

December 8.

I was unable to write yesterday as I was too busy with my experiment. The mouse, which I named Samantha, for obvious reasons, was an interesting subject. I was not aware until yesterday that they could vocalize. Samantha vocalized extensively, much like the real Samantha, however, I found mouse Samantha's vocalization more pleasing as I controlled it. I won't go into minute details of my experiment (I've entered them into a "Lab Notebook" hidden in the usual place), but suffice it to say it was extremely insightful and enjoyable.

It makes me wonder how different a mouse is from a person. I briefly fantasized about Samantha the baby while experimenting on Samantha the mouse. Would she make the same noise if poked with a needle? I imagine she would to some degree.

I have another meeting tomorrow with Dr. Streibach, he increased our sessions to twice a week after our discussion on Tuesday, December the 6th, regarding my chosing C answers. It's yet another annoyance I have to suffer through, though I do enjoy his interest in me. I think some day even his bumbling notes will be in a museum, as documentation of my greatness.

My teacher, Ms. Stevens (how ironic) and my parents are discussing whether or not I should advance to Seventh Grade early. Normally I wouldn't care, but a new girl began in my class today, she's a transfer student. Something about her interests me. Her name is Katherine I spoke with her on the playground. She was very nice to me when we spoke of her but didn't want to hear anything about me. She knew who Mr. Bundy was and, like me, was interested in him. She got in trouble for drumming on her desk. She stopped when she got caught and didn't start again. She's not like the other kids in class.

December 12.

I haven't written anything for several days because I've been so busy. First and foremost, Katherine continues to intrigue me. I spent Saturday and part of Sunday "playing" at her parents' home in Hidden Meadow Estates, the housing development four miles north of my home. It's a nicer neighborhood than mine, and her house is bigger than mine. She doesn't have any siblings and her parents aren't asian, though she is.

She's like me, but still less real. I will explain how I discovered this. At her house she showed me to her room. She showed me her books of which she pretended to be very proud. I asked which was her favorite. She paused and looked at me. It was the look Dr. Streibach sometimes gives me, a calculating look. Our eyes met and she smiled.

"You know I've never read them. How?" she asked conversationally.

I tapped the binding of the nearest book on the shelf. "The spines aren't cracked. They've never been opened."

"Would you like to see my favorite book, Richard?"

"Sure, that'd be cool," I replied.

She went to her bed and pushed the mattress over a small ways exposing the boxspring. There was a cut in the cover of the boxspring which could have been an incidental tear but wasn't. She fished inside and pulled out a thick book entitled "Anatomy of the Human Body," the author's name was Henry Gray. I have heard of it before, Dr. Streibach has a copy on his shelf, but I never thought to look in it. It was glorious. The engravings were beautiful, the renditions of human organs superb. It was so much better than disecting Samantha the mouse.

"Do you like it Alfred?" she asked me.

I tried to hide my excitement. "I don't know, it's kinda cool I guess."

"Drop the act Alfred," she said smiling. "I'm not quite so blind or foolish as your parents or Ms. Stevens. You're like me.  That's why you asked about Theodore Bundy.  By the way, everyone calls him Ted."

I might have kept up the act but I could see it was pointless. She stood staring at me, hands on her hips, waiting, calculating. "I think a man of such esteem deserves the full measure of my respect."

"Than perhaps you should address him by his given name..."

"Theodore Cowell" we said in unison.

"We're both intelligent, Alfred. It would be mutually beneficial to combine our intellect toward a common goal."

"What goal would that be?" I asked.

"Greatness," she replied simply, and I knew it would be good for me to work with her.

She showed me the pictures she'd taken of her own animal experiments. They were beautiful. She labled many of the organs and pinned open the subjects just like in the books I've read on discection. I told her how much I liked them and she touched my cheek and smiled.

"Do you have a psychologist or other mental health professional working with you?" she asked as we sat on her bed thumbing through the pictures.

"I do," I replied pausing to look at an excellent picture of a cat's still beating heart.

"Has he a diagnosis for you?"

I smiled proudly. "I've been toying with him. He currently thinks I'm OCD, that means..."

She waved her hand dismissively. "I know what it means. I had one before we moved and will likely have another one.  Mine came close, he was toying with the idea of labling me Reactive Attachment Disorder, but every time he wrote it in his pad he'd scribble it out again.  He was a simpering idiot."

She could read his writing by the way his pen moved. I couldn't do that. But I never tried either. She sat very close to me as we looked at the photographs. I felt strange, something I can't quite describe. Nervous and good. I wanted her to keep talking to me and being nice to me, but I don't know why.

We spoke about Bundy, but she told me about other people. John Wayne Gacy, Ed Gein, Jeffery Dahmer, and a woman named Aileen Wurnos who Katherine both admired and despised at times. I told her that I wanted to do something great, so that people would know about me and how good I was. She echoed this sentiment and we agreed to do something great together.

We will meet again tomorrow or the next day. She suggested we make a secret language to avoid detection and tell the other students that she is my girlfriend so people don't ask why we spend so much time together. I liked this idea, and the prospect of spending time with her. She likes to hear my ideas for great things to do.

December 15.

Katherine and I have decided upon a great thing to do. The idea came to us both at the same time like divine inspiration, perhaps it is fate. It all started yesterday when I was sitting down to eat dinner. Samantha sits across the table from me in her high chair, with Father at the head of the table to my right, and Mother at the foot of the table to my left. Mother was feeding Samantha, and neither her nor Father was paying attention to me as I tried to tell them about Katherine.

I was becoming frustrated when Samantha knocked over her bowl hard enough to splatter me with her mashed peas. I grabbed a serving plate half filled with spiral cut ham and brandished it at her little pink skull. I paused, realizing that I would get caught and, wanting to avoid punishment, I set the plate down and sat back in my seat. Mother and Father looked at one another and wore expressions I couldn't identify. They discussed punishing me and eventually sent me to my room. I read a book Katherine had lent to me.

The next day I told her what happened and she asked me to describe it in minute detail. She touched my leg as we sat on my bed. I was filled with the same indiscribable feeling as I mentioned in the entry dated December 12. When I told her about holding up the platter and looking at Samantha's head she got visibly excited. The idea came to us then. Killing Samantha would be the first great thing we did.

But that was merely the kernal of the plan, soon an entire scheme began to arise around that one idea. We each had much to contribute. Katherine decided that it would be best if she did the actual killing, as she had more experience with animals and she was less likely to be a suspect in a subsequent police investigation. I agreed and added that we should take Samantha out of the house to do it, that way we could experiment with her first.

The plan, as it currently stands, is that I will lure Mother away from Samantha during her afternoon nap. Next, Katherine will sneak in the house, go up to Samantha's room and take her out of the house. She'll keep Samantha in a hidden place (an old shed I found in the woods last summer while exploring, see entry dated July the 11th). Katherine kissed me before she left, it was very enjoyable.

I've begun putting together a "kit" for our plan. Just some instruments I want to use in our experiments with Samantha. It is essentially an expanded version of the tools I used on Samantha the mouse. My heart races just thinking about this first great deed in what I can only imagine will be many. We expect to put the plan into motion on December the 24th, as an early Christmas present to ourselves. I want Katherine to kiss me when we're done.

December 25

Merry Christmas! It truly is a merry Christmas. Everything went off perfectly. I took copious notes in my Lab Notebook, Katherine took some great pictures and of course her work with the vivisection was beyond compare. I was astounded how long the subject remained conscious even as we tried a number of experiments. As much as I hated Samantha, I must say I'm glad I had a younger sister! As I had hoped, Katherine kissed me again shortly after we completed our experiments. The combined exhilaration of the act of our experiment combined with the pleasure of the kiss was almost overwhelming.

Thus far, no suspicion has been cast upon either of us (ironically, the police questioned my father at length). It was difficult to act sad when my parents told me about Samantha's disappearance (still haven't found her!) I attribute my success to the hours Katherine and I spent practicing. My parents have been paying much more attention to me recently, although I'm not sure if they suspect I was involved or if they are just trying to comfort me.

The best part about this Christmas is what my parents told me earlier today. Mother is pregnant. Before I met Katherine this would have seemed like a nightmare, but now that we are working together it's actually really exciting. With all the things we learned from Samantha, I can only imagine how informative it will be to experiment on a subject carrying a child!