Enigma

Chapter 1- An Introduction

My mother always knew that there was something wrong with me, not that I give a shit. Perhaps she knew with her special motherly senses that her baby was destined to be a complete, antisocial freak as soon as it burst from her loins. I liked to imagine that the doctors and nurses took one look at me and ran screaming for the hills at the monstrosity that clawed from my mother. But that wasn't the case. I was a normal-looking baby, however I didn't cry. The doctor assured my parents that this was sometimes the case and not to worry. But mother knew the truth.

I was born with the utterly ironic name of Lional Frank Mckinney III, a name that has been horrifically misspelled for three generations. Of course, my doting parents are aware of this misspelling but chose to keep it to honor my noble, and borderline depressing, ancestry.

My grandfather, Lional Frank Mckinney Sr., fought in a stupid war where a lot of people died for a cause that everyone believed was worth sending their men folks to die in a fury of bullets and pneumonia. I mean, I understand that family is merely a baggage but war is just tiresome. Old Gramps survived the war with just a bullet wound to the shoulder, which "barely missed my heart and almost shattered my collarbone". It's his pride and joy and he never hesitates to show it off at every family gathering.

My father, Lional Frank McKinney Jr., is a boring lawyer who likes to bone his secretary. He has a lame combover and drives a Prius. Mom is fully aware of his affair but denies it to herself and everyone feels too sorry for her to ever say anything. Yet Father is still only second best to the most hated of the family. He lost only to me.

School was okay. I got in my first and only fight in the third grade. Tommy Carter and Greg Wellburn tried to take my toy trucks in the sandbox and kicked sand in my face. Greg ran for the principal while I shoved the trucks down Tommy's throat. I was suspended for a week. I learned after that.

To succeed, you have to stay out of trouble. At least in the light. After the Tommy incident, I brought my teachers new pencils and markers, not that stupid apple shit. Stuff they can really use. And I complimented their clothes every day, even though they could never afford a decent looking outfit with their pitiful teacher's salary. Pretty soon, everyone forgot about the Tommy incident and I was every teacher's pet. I received special treatment, and was always at the top of my class, even though I never turned in shit. And when I was caught beating up Greg Wellburn behind the school, Miss Cook turned the other way.

The twins came when I was in the fourth grade, Kelly and Ellie. It's so cliché to rhyme the names of twins, especially when they're not even spelled the same. They were two blondes who stole the attention of every adult in the room. That was the only thing they were good for. I liked to be left alone, and that did me a favor. Mother asked me to hold them so she could take cute pictures to "show our future spouses when we're all grown up" or to "display when we're teenagers and hate each other". I refused. They were disgusting lumps that only pissed, shat, and cried. That was the first of many lines that I would cross.

It was obvious that throughout my life, I never wanted any affection from my parents or anyone else for the matter. I never feared the boogeyman and I never cared about anything other than myself. What should have just been an accepted fact from numerous attempts to love me, was torture for my parents. Father left when I was in the fifth grade. Grandmother had passed away and he and mother tried to break the news to me.

They calmly bent down to face me and said, "Lional, we need to tell you something, but we don't know if you'll understand. Grandma won't be around anymore. She went away to be with Jesus. Do you understand?"

To which I replied, "Yes, she's dead."

Mother and Father were appalled. They asked me what I meant by saying something so brash.

"Grandmother drank too much and now she's dead."

Father ran out of the room and I overheard him and mother fighting. He called me a freak, which made me laugh. Mother cried, which never helps you get your way unless you play the poor, attractive woman card, and Mother did not look the same from high school. Father was gone that morning, staying in motel room because his secretary still lived with her parents.

Mother loved me unconditionally, which was very unfortunate for her. She swore to her family that I was just a little different, that growing up is just hard sometimes. I always knew that she was lying to herself. Deep down, she knew that too. Nothing could ever change me. I was destined to live forever in a hollow shell of no emotion, which to me, seems a lot more practical. Passion and emotion only lead people to do rash and stupid things. I prefer to live life on a more professional basis.

I guess you could call me a sociopath.