I didn't think that you were going to come today. Well, let me first start off by saying that I am glad you are here. I have a few things that I want to say, and I would really like you to listen this time. I know that you people sometimes have a tendency to write what you hear, but pay very little attention to what is actually said. Are you listening? Don't lie to me, I want to be honest with you, and there's no sense being honest if you're not going to listen. And there's certainly no sense in me continuing on if you're not read to commit yourself to this. What I want to tell you is very important, and answers one question. I'll let you decide what that is when I'm finished.
The reason that I take such care in making sure that you are paying attention is because I was able to steal one of your examiner's pens while we were talking. Not only was I able to take the pen from this man, but I was able to tell him why I killed her without him even knowing. It's a pity he didn't pick up on it the first time around, I didn't repeat myself. This is why I don't trust them. But I can trust you, right? Here, you can have the pen back. I have no need for such a tool. Since you do not allow writing, I se no reason to keep it.
I look at your examiners as they come in. I look at them right in the eye. And they look right back. But somehow it feels as though I'm just looking into some type of walking mirror. As I sit here, and answer each of their pointless questions, I stare. Have you ever stared in a mirror, doctor? Have you ever had a conversation with yourself, wondering not only why you are talking, but wondering if anyone is listening. Wondering if the person across from you has a soul, a mind, or even a body? Forgive me. I must say, I feel that way now, since you have not commented since your arrival... But no matter. I am convinced that I have your full attention. I will first start off with what you really want to hear. Do I remember killing her? Why yes...I remember every little moment of it. Granted, I am not proud of the act in itself. I agree with you there. But where our morals are different are whether we believe it was right or wrong. I have not stated this yet, but I can trust you. I believe what I did was right.
...I see that you shift in your chair. Does that make you feel a little uncomfortable? It should. I have never been comfortable with murder, or even death for that matter. I too am tired of hearing of murder in the world. It feels like that's all I ever hear now-a-days. When I go to sleep, I am haunted by the act in which put me here. During the day, it is all that goes through my mind. And when you, the white coated soldiers of this prison, come and ask over and over these questions: "Was there a motive, was there a reason, what did she do to you, what pushed you over the ledge," you're not seeing that they are asking the same questions over and over. I tell this to you because I feel that you are not a mirror. You are not like them. You'll listen to what I have to say. My words don't just end up on a piece of paper. It seems like I have told this story a thousand times over. I'm not even sure if I've already told it to you, but I will continue regardless. I am afraid though, that my point will be lost.
I am sure you're thinking, "What could possibly be going on in his mind? Where could he possibly be?" I will tell you where we are, even though you will disagree with me. We are in my house, not this padded prison. And I, I am sitting on my bed, staring into the mirror on the wall. Please don't fret doctor; I know what I'm talking about.
I am here in my room, and across from me is my mirror. On the floor is her body, cut, raped, bruised. She is dressed though. I didn't want to leave her in such a shamble when the police arrived. I'll have to take your word as to the condition she was left in after I left. I was taken in quite the haste, and didn't get the chance to see her one last time. Near her body is the knife that I used. On the floor is the confession note that I prepared before I committed the crime. As I am sure you read, in that note I confess that not only do I have no relation to this woman, I have never seen her before that night. I confessed to quite a bit in that note. I even kept the note in the room as I was ending that woman's life so that I could be accurate to what I wrote. Are you sure you are listening to me doctor?
I just want to make sure, because this is the part that you have really been waiting for. This is the reason that you have been looking into that mirror. I want you to know that I enjoyed this conversation with you, no matter how disappointed I am going to be in a few moments. I am going to answer a question for you. One question, and only one question. No, the question is not why I did it. Why I murdered her is not important; I know this to be true because I've already told one of your examiners this point, and he has not reported it yet, nor have you mentioned it. No...Why I did it isn't important. And you are certain as to how I did it. My confession note was well written, and besides the fact that my handwriting is a little hard to decipher, it is clear as to what I did. Once again, I apologize for writing right to left; I'm not sure what came over me. No, how I did it isn't important either. Are you listening, because I am almost finished?
It's hard enough to be human, doctor. It's hard enough to live through one's life knowing that it will end someday. For me now, it's hard to know that I am going to spend the rest of my days here, or perhaps in another prison, with guards in white at every post. In comparison, killing that woman was something much more easily gotten over. But what's worse than that is knowing that what you have done in life makes little difference. It's like looking into that mirror every day as you come home, and realize that today has gone by, and not a one of you will remember; or that it went by so fast that no one was really paying any attention, and that there will be nothing to be forgotten. Perhaps this murder will be on the news for weeks to come, or even perhaps months and years. But that was not my purpose. That's not really paying attention to the message that I want to send. Do you understand me doctor? Do you see where I am coming from? Do you see what point I am trying to get across?
[He opens his hand to reveal a pen.]
This is your pen, Doctor.
I see you are checking yourself to see if it really is your pen. Well, it's not. But you checked to see if it was.........and that tells me that you think your guard was left down long enough for me to take it.........I see.........time for me to answer the question. But you don't even know what the question is. Well, here, I will treat you.
Were you truly paying attention, or where you just another man in white, another face in the mirror that I constantly talk to, another reason for me to kill? Needless to say, I was right, you did disappoint me.
Quite disappointed.
[The pen falls to the floor.]