“I believe what you idealize is called the black and white theory… also known as the splitting theory” The old bearded man stares at me with his blue gray eyes. I do not respond immediately.
“What does that mean?” I say mildly
“ It means you cannot see the good with the bad or the bad with the good. There is no belief of a middle ground”
“What makes you say this?
“Because you Lyra, cannot seem to grasp and single good thing in relations to your childhood. Yet you only say good things about your adulthood. Which I know to be untrue” I do not react to his words, I simple gaze in his direction my eyes focusing on a painting behind him. The painting is of white orchids, how pretty, how plain. My psychologist scribbles some notes upon a notepad, I can sense his disappointment from my reaction. Maybe he was hoping I would deny his statement or something…something.
“Lyra can you respond to what I just said?” He crosses his legs, and staring imploringly at me.
“Yes, my childhood was black my adulthood is white” My eyes focus on the sole of his shoe, how impeccably clean it is. Black leather possibly, suede inside probably brand new.
“Why do you believe your childhood was bad?”
“Because that’s what it was”
“Why do you believe your adulthood is good?”
“Because that’s what it is” that’s how it is my mind echo’s.
“Do you believe you are black or white?”
“I am bad” The worlds white, the people are black.
“Do you believe that because of what you did?”
“Taking a life is black, which is why I am bad. The actions I took were white because it was right… what I did was white…good”
“In your opinion do you truly believe this man deserved to die?” He starts taking more notes.
“yes” I take a deep breath, the smell of old leather and coffee fill my lungs. Fresh coffee probably brewed this morning.
“He deserved it, he raped a girl and our justice system failed, I did only what was right” The girl was only fourteen, she deserved justice. When is this going to end, hurry up and take me back to my prison cell.
“Do you feel remorse for taking a life?”
“Yes” The correct answer is yes, not no. I adjust my hands, the metal cuffs making my wrists sore. The movement jostling the chains which connect to my ankles and wrists.
“Is this the only person you have killed?”
“I’ve only killed one” Only one they have enough evidence for.
“Well… that’s it for today.” He closes his notepad. A guard comes and takes me away, back to my white cell.