Source of photo: Snakes in Suits Wikipedia

The following is a work on fiction, based on a composite of a generous number of people I have warily watched from a distance over the years. According to statistics (* sources below), 1% of the human population meets the clinical criteria for psychopathy. In my country of 38.1 million people, that means nearly 400,000 people. We always imagine psychopaths as serial killers or other hardened criminals, but in reality, most psychopaths hide in plain sight among us. In order from 1 to 10, the professions that draw the most psychopaths are: CEOs, lawyers, the media, salespersons, surgeons, journalists, police officers, clergy, chefs and civil servants. While the percentage of psychopaths in these professions is still very low (statistics cite anywhere from 3-4% to 10.42%), you have likely met one or two in your lifetime. I know I have…

Just like clockwork, here she comes, walking into my department. She knows I’m here – my car’s parked in my usual space – but I’ve instructed my office staff to tell her I’m ‘busy’; that I’ll come to see her ‘later’. Now she’ll worry about that all day: I do like keeping people on their toes. There was a meeting yesterday that I ‘forgot’ to invite her to attend. She was supposed to be there in order to get the information she needed to finish her latest report. Now she’ll miss her deadline unless she speaks to me and I know she avoids meeting me at all costs: she’s terrified of me.

She’s one of those sickening ‘socially-minded’ people pleasers who actually think they’re ‘making a difference’, whatever that means. She has a sign in her office that says ‘Be the change you want to see in the world.’ What a load of crap. She probably has wall plaques at home that read ‘Hope’ and ‘Love’ and ‘Friends Gather Here’. I can’t wait to wipe that optimistic look off her stupid, silly face for good.

I’ve only been working on this one for a few months now, and she’s already starting to break. Her face is all pale; her hands shake all the time; she always looks like she’s trying not to cry and I’m sure she’s lost weight. She actually shrinks away from me when I come into the room. She can’t even meet my eyes anymore. Just to keep her off-balance, every once in a while, I use my ‘kind’ voice with her and praise her work (always when no one else is around to hear it, of course). Most of the time, though, I find fault with every single thing she’s doing (always in front of the whole office team: they’ve begun smirking and rolling their eyes when I start in on her). Lately, I’ve overheard them criticizing her, too. And they’ve started pretending they don’t see her when they meet her in the hall or the lunch room.

Bunch of lemmings: I just love getting the mob all fired up…

When I was a kid, a group of children in the neighbourhood got together and built a big rabbit hutch. They each had their own bunny and they spent all their time cooing over them; cuddling them; saying how ‘cute’ they were. They didn’t invite me to join them, of course. Even then, people were afraid of me. When one of the rabbits had babies, I crept over one night to see what the fuss was all about. I picked one of them up and squeezed it until it squirmed frantically to get away. When it suddenly went limp, I got scared I’d get caught and ended up throwing all the babies into a nearby pond. It was fun watching the live ones struggle before finally giving up the ghost. A few of the neighbourhood kids suspected it was me; I could see it from the wary, sideways looks they gave me for months after.

But no one ever said anything and I never got caught.

I learned from that:  I’m much more careful, now. I cultivate ‘friendships’ with a few of my office disciples – they’re stupid, but loyal. I spend all my free time doing ‘volunteer’ work (that’s what I tell people I do, in any case). I keep pictures of my cats on the table in my office (the first two cats I had, that is: I’ve lost count of how many I’ve gone through over the years). I’m careful, now, to bury all the bones deep in the back yard. And I only keep white cats: the darker ones are too intelligent and they always run away. The white ones breed well and they’re dumb as mud. You can pour hot oil right on their heads before it occurs to them to move.

As for humans, I’ve learned there are more ways to kill something than by squeezing it or throwing it into a pond. My last victim offed herself with pills. Didn’t even leave a note. The one before that ended up in a psychiatric ward. If I play my cards right, this one lives near a nice, high bridge.

I’ve always loved playing with my food before eating it…

Patti Moore Wilson ©

Source of information:


Author: Patti Moore Wilson, wednesdayschild2

I write what I feel. And I rarely know exactly what I feel until I write. I have lived long enough to have known many joys and many sorrows. I have made many mistakes; I have forgiven myself for a few… I have learned that there are lessons in every step of this journey, if we only take the time to pay attention… I hope you will feel free to pick and choose the stories that resonate for you…

14 thoughts on “Psychopath”

  1. I came across several of them during my 25 years of government work. They usually work their way up the management ladder because they are willing to do the dirty work and to keep their mouths shut. Two of them were my supervisors, and both of them ended up leaving and moving up in the private sector. There is no telling how many people they have tormented along the way!

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