I am not a psychopath, I promise

Possible sensitive topics: potential crime committed by a minor, potential physical harm on others, poisoning

I am not a psychopath, I promise.

Do you know what the most important element in proving someone’s guilt in a crime? It is the motive.  Without a motive and without direct evidence it’s impossible to prove a person’s guilt. And that’s what I plan to commit, a crime without a motive, the perfect crime. Now you may ask why I would do this. Am I a psychopath? No, I am not. I am a revenge artist. Outwardly, I am a quiet, empathic, compassionate, pleasant, and a friendly individual; in fact, most of the time I am genuinely that. But then things happen, things that seem insignificant in other’s eyes; they hurt me like an ice pick driven through my right knee. Try to imagine the pain from an ice pick driven through your knee. There, now you know my pain. It’s sharp, it’s consistent. That until I take revenge. The revenge I take invariably falls under the category of a crime. But a revenge artist never gets caught. She’s not hasty, nor is she clumsy; she can wait weeks, months, but not years. Do realize that longer I wait longer that ice pick crank inside my knee. Only way I can escape the gnawing pain is by taking revenge, however, not to get caught I must not leave traces and I must not display even the most remote of motives.

Now you may ask what kind of act causes me such hurt and what kind of revenge I would take. Before I answer that I must make you understand what these hurts are. I know everyone of you at some point in your life had experienced such a hurt, a hurt so insignificant in others eyes, but a hurt that you carry to this day; after a year, after a decade, after a life time. If you could stop the pain by a simple act of revenge wouldn’t that be sweet? If you knew you wouldn’t get caught wouldn’t you try taking that sweet revenge?

What I am going to tell you is not a confession. I am not saying I’ve done it or I haven’t done it, I am just saying it could be done and if done right you will never get caught. First of all there are three crucial elements that I have to satisfy to distance myself from the guilt; the timing, the technique and the target. I don’t have to expand on the first two, I am certain you get those. But let me explain the third one, the target. If I direct my revenge purely on to the party or parties who caused me pain there’s a good chance that the law will figure out that I had a motive. On the other hand, if I diffuse the target little wider to include some who had nothing to do with it, it’d be much harder for the dogs of the law to sniff me out.

Here’s the example that you are impatient to know. The cause of pain and the consequences it yields.

At spring break I am at dance camp, the part one of the “Life Skills Camp” which will continue on in the summer. We learn hip hop, contemporary dance and basic Latin dance. I am not the most coordinated person, I am tone deaf and rhythm challenged. I may Ace a math camp, writing camp, even a class on motor mechanics, but not anything to do with dance and music. Then why I would join the dance camp, you may ask. Fair enough. I’ve so far withheld a very important piece of information. I am only 11 years old. I don’t have a lot of choice in what I do or don’t do, most things in my life are done at the convenience of my parents. Am I going to take revenge from my parents for sending me to dance camp? Let’s not discuss it right now.

So, here’s what happens at the dance camp. It’s as if everyone else is speaking a language that only I cannot understand. I hop, and I turn and I step on my partner’s feet, I try hard, and I am exhausted. Only thing that keeps me going is the large gelato cone that we are promised at the end of the class, cost included in the class fee. At the end of the class we walk across the road to the creamery and one by one we get our gelato from the sweet lady behind the rainbow of gelato flavors. My real troubles start happening then. I am a bit choosy when it comes to colors and flavors; it has to be exactly right and if I make the bad choice it would bother me for weeks. I taste all the flavors on offer, I short list and do a second round of tasting, I consider the color of the gelato under the florescent light and natural light and decide on two that would go on my waffle cone. The lady behind the display is far from sweet by then and gives me smaller scoops than she gave others.

At last, I join the others and the ten of them are seated on the long wooden bench outside the creamery, and I stand there with pleading eyes for them to make space for me. Finally, Mini who sits at the left hand end of the bench moves a bit; and I sit or rather rest one and quarter butt cheeks on the bench. Right then Deborah, the largest girl in the class who sits at the right hand end of the bench suggests that we play the “pushing game”. Pushing game is where the ones on the right would try to push the ones on the left off the bench and vice versa. You guessed correct, with one hefty move Deborah pushes toward the left and I am thrown off the bench. As I lay on the gravel with my elbow and cheek scraped, I see my waffle cone and the two painstakingly chosen flavors splayed on the ground like throw up; what breaks me is not the scrapes, nor the lost gelato but the cruelty of the laughter of those who managed to hold on to the bench.

Throughout the spring term, every time I remember the creamery incident the ice pick in my knee cranks a notch and sends waves of shame and pain throughout my being. My angst about whether I’d be able to take revenge ceases only when I realize that the “Life Skills Camp” part two which happens in the summer will have all students from part one, and others. Part two is a cooking camp. The first element in the revenge plan is satisfied; the timing is perfect.

Next I work on the technique. As a revenge artist I plan potential techniques all the time, only safe place to record them is in my head. I already have a sketch that may work for the current situation. I need to take the responsibility of cleaning the utensils and pots and pans before and after each cooking lesson. A task disliked by most. I know that the mixer shaft has a hollow core and if I fill it with something, that something would leak into whatever we mix. When my parents are at work I tryout this techniques with food coloring and cream; it works.

So my dear people that’s what I do, I fill the shaft with ground up seeds of the plant X mixed with heavy cream, sorry, but I am not going to tell you which plant, I don’t want you to try this on your annoying neighbor, besides I plan to file a patent on this when I am eighteen. I am not too certain whether methods of harming people are patentable. I plan to Google that in a couple of years at the library in the next town. 

The last important element of the perfect crime is the target, and to realize that I broaden the target. My target is not just the ones who laughed at me in front of the creamery, but all the additional members of the cooking class as well, I know it’s unjust, but there’s nothing just about revenge. It’s imperative that the target is diffused in order not to be suspected of the act.

We make marshmallow pudding.

All of the participants enjoy the cold, melt-in-your mouth pudding in the hot afternoon. I fake a mild stomach upset and eat very little. That night everyone gets severe tummy pains and diarrhea, and my intention is fulfilled. The mild tummy issue I get from the bit of the pudding I ate is a small price to pay for extinguishing the constant pain from the ice pick cranking inside my knee.