sociopaths

Maybe it was his stage or some point in his life, the turning point, the climax where understanding would smack him across the face and suddenly – nothing.

Deep down in his chest, even possibly in the back of his mind, Aaron had grown tired of placating the insecurities of most people.

A few clicks of his mouse, opening FireFox web browser and typing web addresses from memory. People we’re humans, humans functioned off of social contact, eating and sexual intercourse was thrown in for good measure. He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘humans’ and classify them as a brand of ‘people’. Seperate the two entirely, distancing himself from them even more.

In the midst of his thoughts between large groups of individuals outside of the welfare office and the smell of waffles, his fingers and auto pilot in his subconcious searched the word /sociopath/.

Once the browser turned to one large black webpage with white text, those eyes focused in on the bold Times Roman font at the top of the page.

Sociopath

He tutted, reading the definition and profile. The first paragraph was introductory to the reader, saying a great deal of information and effectively losing his attention in the process. He picked up on a few words and phrases, cultivated by the underlying example of a man showcasing such a vivid profile in everyday life.

Expressions such as, show emotion or caring for others, especially if that individual lacked the ability to further the sociopaths desires or motives. Like a dictator he began to deduce, until the bullet points beneath the two paragraphs bunched together.

These points we’re easier and to the point, very direct and short. A few Aaron grazed over, mocking the idea that an individual would have /glibness and superficial charm/. Wasn’t that a part of life? A part of living? A salesperson has charm, wit, will laugh at any joke as long as you sign your life away on the dotted line.

Sales people reminded him of the one thing he was superiorly lacking in this moment of life. A car, vehicle or reliable transportation. He snorted through his nostrils and continued to slowly dissect the bullet points one by one.

Manipulative and Conning was a phrase that fit a sociopaths profile in the previous statement.

“Why am I on this page?” he asked himself, mumbling to fill the partial silence of the mouse wheel clicking, all of the fans in his mini-tower humming.

Pathological lying lack of remorse, shame or guilt, shallow emotions.

“Hmm.” According to the page, and to some extent a bit of a warning to Aaron, Sociopaths show, rather than genuinely feel.

“Bullshit.” he spat. Complete and utter bullshit in his beliefs. In fact, according to this webpage he scrolled through referencing a few doctors and deceased psychologist, every living being is a sociopath. There was no escape from it, a pre-existing disease, implanted into our genetics at birth.

“self serving users.” Aaron sighed, which turned into a yawn as he coupled his fingers together with the palms facing out. In a small bench press stretch he shook gently in his chair and stood. All of the stretches, turns, pivots to get the blood flowing after sitting at this station for a good few hours.

It was a little before 12AM and he was cursing to himself. Given the time frame between the past few hours from the last time Aaron was completely asleep clocked in 10 hours ago. “The once over”, he called it. These wonderful events in time we’re phenomena, a resplendent event where he affectionately deprived his body several nights out of the week scraping the underbelly of web pages, special interest groups and dozens of chartrooms under a mire of false identities and alias’s.

Obsessive in nature, these searches could fill many volumes of encyclopedia and hard drives till they reached a 12 stack inside his case.

For a mini-tower the suggestion is impossible. Now, without food for the next seven days, a day’s work in three and time flying by as he browsed the contents of folders scattered in a respectable organized chaos, the question only remained.

Was sleep worth it? He huffed, billowing his cheeks till they stretched into large bumps of hot air then deflated smooth into his cheeks again as he blew out. Quietly, he turned his attention to the calender on his wall to the left. Hung close the window, he glanced it over, then stared over the horizon of a low-rise building outside of his apartment.

The two story building complex faced the strip that ran north and south. The lights of casino’s and tourist rental cars polluted the sky with an amber discharge melting into a blue hue the farther away the earth ended and space began.

He could go to sleep, but, in the two hours that passed, sleeping for 18 hours or so, then waking up that sunday afternoon – how much of the city would he miss? Perhaps the hue of lights and activity might die for an hour and he would miss it.

Another yawn came over him, shorter this time and the drowsy effects of the constant swamp warmth a small computer tower with very hot pc components on twenty hours out of the day. As it was October, Las Vegas was cooling down, which was easier on the electricity.

“Damn it.” He was passing time making up excuses to stay awake until the sun came up again. Memories of McCarrin Airport, several stores for his employeer and working 15 hours straight only to return home for another seven hours at the computer.

He moused over the start button, hitting the large red stop sign of a button as the screen dimmed, “Turn Off”. Within seconds his machine whirred, clicked and died slowly leaving the motherboard light the only life in the bones of the machine. Hollow of power, the machine would remain off for another five or six hours, before the bios would remind the system to boot at five a.m. later that morning.

He needed the rest, and for that, the room needed to be colder. The monitor, xerox printer, laptop, even the surge protector. Anything electronic was clicked off and his cell phone was turned on. Craddling the device he slipped into the comforter sheets and slouched on his stomach on the old futon matresses on his floor.

His stomach growled, hunger was setting in.

No food. Seven days.

He reminded himself of that and began to close his eyes, slowly drifting, forgetting that tiny machine between his fingers.

Drifting into that opaque oblivion, going slowly at first, building momentum, gone.

—–

Wide awake with the world around him immediately blurred without the aid of his glasses. Rolling on his back, he stared at the ceiling fan going in circles.

Though a lack of sunshine bleed through the mini-blinds, evidence enough, he had slept through the early morning into the following night. Only Sunday night remained before he returned to work for the needed hours, as Aaron rubbed the crust of sleep from his eyes, contemplating another 12 hours of unconciousness his cellphone vibrated beneath his lower back like a pissed off hornet.

He arched, jumping and snatched it, the LED screen read, “#”. The joy of technology. He flipped it open, immediately connecting the call,

“Hello” , a small pause before the voice on the other end chimmed happily, “Hey! It’s been two weeks, where have you been?”

Aaron was losing track of time again. He remembered placing the cell phone into a coma, lacking a home phone line – the volume of calls in and out were much more controlled.

“Had it cut off for awhile. Catching up on bills.” he lied, and suddenly the definition of a sociopath came to mind. /Patholigical liar/.

“Wow”, “So did you catch up on things?”

“Not really, I don’t have food for the next few days.”

Rolling over on his stomach, crawling with his knees and left elbow towards the ground, slithering as the voice yammered on, ignoring his condoning silence to the now, one sided conversation.

“So, yeah..I was thinking about making an offer – if you can get the pandorum program running by the end of the week, i can pay you once I’ve verified it’s running smoothly.”

Aaron found his glasses, “I haven’t heard from you in email. you haven’t sent me much else to go on other than the barebones source code.”

“..besides..” aaron thought a moment,”I don’t think I want my finger prints all over the final product you know that.”

“I know!” Aaron winced, exactly a few decibals over, he was in pain, #’s pitch made his ears ring slightly.

“But, that’s what I’d pay you extra for.”

“To be the fall guy when you get caught with that kind of software.”

A long telling silence, # wasn’t very adept at lying as smoothly when it came to business.

“Okay, how about 5,000 and a written statement that you are not affiliated with the use of the software?”

“..innocence by ignorance. sounds fine to me. Make it cash and don’t email me any details.” Standing up, he made his usual range of stretches, pivots and squats before sitting down in his executive leather chair. The computer wasn’t on, reminded that he cut it off at the source, he ducked under the table clicking on the surge protector and the box purred a moment before coming to life.

“All I want any one to see is that I created a program to your specifications and sent it to you. No gifts, nothing…with that agreement, I’ll personally uploaded to a few freeware sites. Get it out there…”

# was smiling on the other end, breaking into a small chuckle as she spoke, “You’re either highly intelligent or extremely paranoid..”

Aaron shrugged, “I think the line between the two is beginning to blur.”

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