Journals of a Psychopath



Clarkson balks at meeting his mother again.


I spoke about mother's hatred and Smithson was surprised, Elaina was noiseless, as the road slipped under the tires. Macabre clouds tagged us and snow tumbled on the car, I scrutinized the shapes trickling down the windshield. Swishing, the wipers the only sound in the car, and laboring to solve a crossword Smithson's face was deep in meditation. Elaina was reading a magazine and Jolenson was asleep. Pondering of mother when she abused and wounded me, the agony stabbed my heart. Bending over the steering wheel and Elaina was concerned she snuggled into me.
      “Are you okay?”
I ignored her.
      “I feel nervous now,” Elaina said.
The miles slithered in front and we arrived at mother's abode.
      “Can I feed Jolenson?”
I regretted the decision to see mother and I turned the car around, I rode off speedily, Elaina was furious.

The Isolation Chamber

Tucking the Lady Flarice in the four-poster and plumping the pillows, her face was desolate.
      “Smithson will read you a story.”
I hearkened to the tale too I relished it and the wax blocks appeared brighter, as he recited the words of the account. Finishing the saga and closing the book, the manuscript was the one he had written.

Mother's House

The door to mother's home flew open and she marched to us.
      “I saw you run away before.”
I introduced Smithson.
      “This is Smithson your grandson.”
He offered his hand.
      “Good to meet you grandmother.”
Ignoring his outstretched hand and mother analyzed him.
      “You are the same as your father I never approved of him and I do not accept his son.”
Sidling to mother Elaina clutched Jolenson in her arms.
      “I am Elaina the mother of Jolenson Clarkson's daughter.”
Mother gawked at my offspring.
      “The brat in your arms is destined for abuse to be scourged by her kith and kin. Get in and now Hanson is dead do you think you can gain my affection?”
      “I merely contemplated it might be an idea to see you mother obviously I was wrong.”
Smithson whispered when mother turned her rear.
      “Grandmother is scary.”
He studied me.
Swinging back and forth in her rocking chair, it evoked painful memories she was agitated, I was apprehensive. Smithson was surprised when I grabbed his arm and led him into the kitchen.
      “We must go.”
Smithson was disturbed.
      “Get out,” mother said.
She had seen us move to the door. Elaina ran from the house just as we got into the car.
      “What do you think you are doing?” She cried.

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