BY JASON COOPER
Brutal Murders. Victims Stabbed 83 Times. Those were just some of the headlines above stories filled with truth and lies. Stories about a sociopathic monster. Surely a villain made for novels and movies. Those were the only places I had ever come across someone described as such. That is until I came across… a mirror.
Were the thoughtful green eyes that stared back at me capable of hiding such a person? Others had described them as kind/ mischevious/ or wise. Was a sociopath any of those? I didn‘t think so.
But maybe I was wrong .
I rubbed my weary face with my right hand, fingers running across lines of care that weren’t there a day ago. I caught sight of my hand in the mirror through splayed fingers, masking my face. Holding my hand close to the mirror, I inspected it. Inspected it for the caked and dried blood that I had scrubbed so hard to get off my first night in jail. It was clean. So…very… clean. Not the hand of a murderer. Not the hand of a monster.
Then I raised my left hand. I feared what Ifd see. I knew what I’d find. It raised slowly. It trembled rapidly. The mirror showed the truth, even though my mind tried to lie. A jagged gash ran from my ring finger, past my pinkie, almost severing the tendons. I flexed them, as if by curling the fingers away, I could hide my deeds. A fresh line of crimson snaked its way down my hand to drip, drip, drip and leave starred spatters on the concrete floor.
Blood called to blood. I was catapulted from present to past. This time, I was an observer, not a participant. Who was this man I saw with madness in his eyes? Why did he scream and cry as he cut and stabbed? Didn’t he hear their pleas, their screams?
Why, why wouldn’t he stop? “For God’s sake, stop!” I screamed.
But I was just an observer and my voice was soundless.
At some point—a minute, an eternity later–the man stopped.
He fell to his knees weeping amidst the gore. His tears could have drowned the world, but they would never be able to wash away all the blood. He crawled to a phone, leaving smears with his passage, pulled it down and called for help. Help for them.
Help for him. Help. He needed help.
Darkness overcame all. Then, light. Blinking back salted emotion, I was in the present once more, staring at a mirror.
Staring at me. I turned away, never wanting to see that man again.
Jason Cooper is serving two consecutive life sentences without parole for two murders.
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Noone chooses to be born and shaped into a sociopath – it is not a happy or contented personality to suffer with… needing to spread the misery around just to feel in balance. Sorry you were born with this constitution that prevents real understanding of consequences til too late, and sorry for the casualties. I know some sociopaths really try to have a normal life, to do right, but its just an uphill battle. Maybe neuroscience will be able to help rewire people like you in future so you are not feeling a lack that causes you to take from others. Meanwhile hope you are getting insight to ways to live in balance without anti human aggressions.
Vous avez fait ce que vous avez fait. Revenir en arrière est impossible.
Il est difficile a l’être humain de pardonner, mais Dieu le peut.
Nous ne sommes que des humains, avec des peurs, des angoisses. Et des coups de folie. Nous ne sommes ni des machines ni des robots formaté pour que tout se passe bien.
Je vous souhaite de trouver la paix dans votre coeur.
Que Dieu vous bénisse
I wish I maybe heard more of who you feel you truly are. I think people are really moved by the stories that are raw and accountable. It’s hard to understand what would drive a man to stabbing someone but if you could explain the man behind the mirror and the life and struggles…I bet it would move people to tears. And then we will know the man you feel you are.
Wow, I guess it would be hard to forgive yourself for committing the crime you committed. All you can do is make the most of the situation your in.
God bless you.
Sally.?
I enjoy the stories on this site, particularly those that are reflective and give a glimpse into life on the inside.
Yours is neither of those things, however. Your narrative strikes me as self-indulgent.