By Sarah Begg
I should never have
asked to be telepathic.
Jack and Abby –
they had the right idea. Jack asked for super strength and look at
him now! He's been hailed as the world's first real superhero. He
works in a specialist police unit and everybody loves him – no need
for the jaws of life at a car crash scene, if Jack's there he can
just pull the whole car apart.
And Abby – Abby
got the invisibility thing. I thought she was nuts at the time –
what practical use is there for invisibility? But it works for her, I
suppose because she's quite shy. She can blend in to crowds and
always knows way more about what's going on than anybody else ever
does.
But me? I had to go
and choose telepathy. It sounded so cool at the time, being able to
read everyone's thoughts. But nobody told me that I'd literally hear
everyone's thoughts
all the time.
I
can't go out in public places anymore without a barrage of thoughts
pummeling me from every direction. And even when I do focus in on one
particular person, their thoughts are always bad.
I mean, you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you that people
have such cruel, nasty thought, but they do.
When
I'm standing at the coffee counter ordering a coffee, the friendly
girl behind the counter is smiling at me and asking how my day has
been, but her mind is saying
What the fuck is
this girl wearing? God she really needs some makeup on, no wonder
she's in here every day by herself. And don't order the croissant
again, you're starting to get fat.
as she asks me sweetly, and with a smile, “And would you like a
croissant today?”
I thought that telepathy would improve my relationships, not ruin
them. I thought that I'd be able to have amazing sex with my
boyfriend, but when I heard what he was thinking I broke down and
cried. And then I couldn't explain to him what was wrong and of
course he didn't understand and now he's gone.
I thought I'd be promoted at work due to all my really great insights
into the company because I could assess how everyone was feeling. But
management just wanted to know how I could have found out so much
sensitive information, and then the accusations started that I was
stealing other people's ideas.
No, if I could go back to that night when Jack, Abby and I were at
the carnival, and we went into the psychic’s tent and the old man
said he could give us all any gift we wanted, I definitely would not
have chosen telepathy.
“Rachel, how are you feeling today? Are you ready to reopen our
discussion from last week?”
I glare at the psychiatrist, hating her right down to my very core.
She acts all helpful and concerned but I know what she's thinking.
She's thinking
Is she going to
be receptive today? I really wish she would stop glaring at me. This
session needs to wrap up fairly quickly so I have time to go home and
make quiche for dinner.
“I know what you're thinking!” I scream at her. “Stop
pretending to care when I know you don't!”
“Rachel, we've been over this,” the psychiatrist looks at me
calmly but I can hear her thinking
Here we go,
she's all fired up again today. God and I really thought we might be able to get somewhere this time.
“You are not telepathic.” The psychiatrist continues.
“Yes I am! Yes I am! The stupid psychic at the carnival did this to
me! Why don't you believe me!” I'm crying already (earlier than
usual), tears streaming down my face. “Just look at Jack! How do
you explain how strong he is! And Abby – you've seen her
turn invisible.”
“Rachel, you know that I have never seen your imaginary friend Abby
at all,” the psychiatrist says patiently.
“That's because she's INVISIBLE! You can't see her, that's the
whole point!” I yell at her.
“And your friend Jack can't have super strength,” she's still
talking away calmly, as if I didn't just break the no-shouting rule.
“Because if he did he could have broken out of his room here,
couldn't he? He could break out of the straight jacket that he wears,
but he doesn't, does he?”
“Jack's not in here,” I'm sobbing now, squirming around in my own
straight jacket. “He's working with the police, saving the world.”
The psychiatrist is shaking her head sadly.
“Rachel, until you accept that you were hypnotised by a lunatic at
that carnival and that you and your friend Jack have subsequent
mental issues that we are trying to help fix, you will never get
better. You need to be calm, and accept that none of this is true
before we can try to reverse the hypnosis. Do you understand?”
“Stop thinking those thoughts!” I scream. “I'm not ugly and I'm
not deficient! Nobody believes me! Everyone needs to stop thinking –
I don't want to hear your thoughts, I don't want to!” I'm now
whimpering and jolting my body up and down. I can feel my heart
racing and my face is hot.
The psychiatrist just shakes her head sadly and signals for the two
burly men to step inside the room.
“Sedate her,” she says softly. “We'll try again next week.”
As the men approach I hear what they're thinking
So young to be
such a loon. Ah well, she's nothing nice to look at so doesn't
matter.
Another week now
we've got to keep this nut for. As if she'll ever get better, she's
just as crazy as the rest of them
And then as the sedative is injected all the voices stop.
Great story! I loved the twist in the end! :)
ReplyDeleteGustavo (http://gustavofsc.blogspot.de/)