To start, I should explain what I mean by monster. What is a monster? I am a sociopath. I can imagine the thoughts running through your mind at that. The stories, usually the horrific ones, about creatures like Jeffrey Dahmer and Charles Manson, of creatures just as wicked and foul found far and wide throughout this world. Before you let those fancies run wild, and carry you with them through the tangled forests of your imagination, take the reins. I am not a murderous, blood-thirsty killer. I am not a creature on a rampage, or an abomination seeking redemption.

Children all start at the mental capacity, the emotional threshold, that I live. Selfish little creatures, interested only in their wants, their needs. Beautiful, simplistic. Innocent. But the difference between them and I, is that they grow older. They age, and as they age, their emotions develop. They ripen. Adolescence brings the innocent exploration of sexuality, of desire. Of love. They learn to put someone else, before them. They learn how not to hurt, how to nurture a relationship. How to care.

My greatest accomplishment in that context so far in my life, is that I have created a facade. I am an average person, that graduated high school. I work, I party. I 'enjoy' myself. From a very early age, I watched. I watched children and adults react. I saw the response to certain emotional stimuli, and I emulated them. I mastered them. When I was younger, I could manipulate a parent or loved one into anything I wanted. Now, I can manipulate an absolute stranger into anything I want. In school, I could twine teachers and peer alike into any web I wanted, then suffocate them with it. (That wasn't a murderous forshadow or admission of any violence, simply an ironic pun.)

I have had relationships. I've had many women, enjoyed the chase, the hunt, more times than I can remember. But of all of them, I've never once even glimpsed the elusive warmth of 'love.' The most I've felt towards any of them was jealousy, irritation, or satisfaction. Of the three, the second was the predominant, with the first as a close second. The satisfaction came and went, generally hand in hand with sex. I've never physically hurt any of the gentler sex, and I never would. No matter the depths of my rage, I know myself. I control myself. Control is an intrinsic part of my glove, you see, because if it ever slips, that woman would see me for what I am. If it ever slips, in front of anyone, they would see me, as what I am, and I doubt there are many anywhere, any that I know at least, that would have the capacity to handle that revelation.

I see the people I surround myself with, these 'friends,' my 'family' even, experience a myriad of vastly contrasting emotions, and I wonder. I wonder what they'd feel like, I wonder what it'd be like to cry from sadness, from grief. I wonder what it would feel like to simply enjoy someone's company, to truly appreciate someone for that fact, and not for what I can get from them, from what they provide for me. I wonder, and I envy, but most of all I watch. I learn. I emulate.

Perhaps someday, the illusion that I weave will once more be enough for me. The solitude of silence, of darkness, of aloneness, will hopefully some day be my home once more. But for now, I must examine myself, I must learn myself better. My dreams have brought me to this, and I will continue to hope that they guide me. I will hope that this excersize of communication is not in vain.

How I envy you, howling, lone wolf, for being lone, but not lonely. How I long to feel the contentment you feel, stalking underneath the moon, without care, once more.