[ WP ] A man is banished to the wilderness for 20 years . Write his diary entries for his first and last days of exile .

5 June 1985 
 
 
 
 My name is Maurice Linden. I am a psychopath. 
 
 
 
 Do n't let that frighten you, though. I am not a bad person. My entire life has been dedicated to doing things right. I have a degree in pharmaceuticals, a lovely wife, and 2 perfect children. I coached my son's soccer team for three years. I understand empathy and feelings for other human beings. I just do n't feel them. 
 
 
 
 As a child I often walked alone to the dime shop nearby. That was back when no one was afraid of people like me - people who might do something terrible but never feel a moment's regret. I used to sit at the counter with a strawberry milkshake, sipping and watching the people. I learned by watching, and I learned well. Even at that young age I knew that something about me was different. The world was one big game, and I was determined to play it better than anybody else could. So I watched, and I learned. 
 
 
 
 I learned that there are some people who are beneficial to society - the grocer, the police officer, the carpenter - and then there are some people who suck the joy out of life like bipedal leeches - the homeless, the vagrants, and the perpetually destitute. When I was a teen I began to cull these people from my town, carefully and humanely. I did not hate them. I simply did not want them. So they disappeared. 
 
 
 
 Single handedly, I ushered in an era of peace in our community. Townsfolk talked, of course. They whispered to each other, and even to me occasionally, saying how fortunate we were to live in our happy little homes without any of the problems that plagued other cities. Life was ideal. I was not happy - I have never felt happiness - but I was content. 
 
 
 
 Janice Harper ruined my perfect system. She became chief of police after Harold Manor retired, and she made it her personal goal to find out what happened to people when they disappeared from our town. She assigned detectives to follow vagabonds as they drifted into town like a foul breeze. I was careful, so very careful. Eventually though, even I could not maintain perfection. I made a mistake. 
 
 
 
 A biker had stopped at the dime shop for gas and refreshments. It's not called the dime shop anymore, of course. It's a new and shiny gas station, but it still has a milkshake counter and I still watch the people as they travel in and out of town. This biker was enormously obese, heavily tattooed, and extremely foul-mouthed. I would have been happy to see him ride his filthy motorcycle right back onto the highway, but instead I heard him ask the cashier which places were hiring nearby. 
 
 
 
 Ordinarily, I preferred to watch and wait. I would remove the offending person when the time was ideal. However with Chief Harper on the lookout, I knew that I had precious little time. I followed the biker to South Street, and flashed my lights to get his attention. I waved for him to pull over, and he obligingly did. I jumped out of my van and called to him as I advanced, `` Your rear tire is nearly flat!'' He clambered off the motorcycle and stepped around to the back, looking at the tire all the while. 
 
 
 
 He never saw the syringe coming. I struck and injected in one fluid motion, forcing the thick liquid into his neck. He yelled and swung wildly at me, but the mirocane was swift and so was I. The biker stumbled, then toppled to the ground as his heart beat its last. I quickly got the emergency blanket from my van and used it as a litter to drag the man's massive body to the rear doors. Then I drove the motorcycle directly into my van, using his body as a ramp. Lifting him in behind the bike was no small effort, but I managed. I slammed the doors shut and took off. 
 
 
 
 For years I had been disposing of bodies in the same place. An old quarry hit a spring in the early seventies, turning it into a local favorite for cliff-jumping. I used an out-of-the-way section that was only about 10 feet across and untold hundreds of feet deep. In summer the quarry was crowded with swimmers, but it was only March and the grounds were deserted. I backed the van up to the hole directly and shoved the biker's body in. The bike was a concern - it was not biodegradable. Eventually I decided to take it out to the train trestle off Mason Drive. I rolled it into the gorge and headed back home. 
 
 
 
 It was there that they found me. I was scrubbing motorcycle grease out of my van's carpet with little success when Marilyn came to the garage and said some men wanted to see me. It all went downhill from there. With the evidence in my van and the eyewitness to the murder, I was convicted and sentenced to 20 years in prison. However as I had a clean record and was very convincingly apologetic in my trial, the judge agreed to allow me to try a new isolation program. 
 
 
 
 They left me here on this island. I have shelf-stable food to last the first year, along with seeds and tools to grow my own food afterward. It is generally understood that I may not survive my 20 years, but I have no doubt that I will make it easily. For years I have been watching, and learning. Now it is time to put my lessons to the test. 
 
 
 
 ****** 
 
 
 
 15 May, 2005 
 
 
 
 They came for me today. Men in dark uniform said I could go home, my sentence was finished. I refused. My life is here, with my goats and my farm. My seeds are growing in perfect rows, and my goats will bear kids in a few days. In all my 61 years I have never before felt so... happy. 
 
 
 
 

