If you could read my mind
Sure, the ability to read minds would be great. Discover exactly what that honey at the end of the bar wants to hear. Annihilate at the poker table. Figure out why your wife hasn’t talked to you in a week.
But imagine the downside. Learning that your favorite people are monsters – Child-craving, puppy torturing monsters parading as decent folk. Hearing what your loved ones really think of you. The unsavory and unwanted knowledge that as a species, we’re not as loving and selfless as we claim to be. One day – nay, one HOUR! – with the volume turned up on the thoughts of others, you’d be praying for cotton to stuff in your psychic ears.
Gift or curse?
Ask Rudy Weather. Here is a young man who hears it all, the private thoughts of his parents, his teachers, his peers, his heroes. Here is a man who wish there was a mute button.
“One afternoon I stood next to Yvonne Dean, the prettiest girl in the school, in hopes of getting a glimpse of her innermost being. She stood at her locker, all curvy and blonde and pulling off a sweater. When the sweater came off, I was standing before her.
Her thoughts were as ugly as the rest of her was divine.
“Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, God. Rudy Weather! If he touches me, I’ll scream. I’ll scream and throw up, I just know I will.”
I sucked a thought from the family doctor I had been seeing for years as he pressed a stethoscope to my chest. The voice that fluttered out of his head was slick and dark like a bat. I didn’t understand what I heard.
“So tender and shy, this one. I’d like to get him down in my basement.”
Five years later, they found the bodies of six children in his cellar.”
Nasty stuff. But it gets worse. Oh, so much worse for Rudy Weather, reader of minds. Find out how in Box of Lies.
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But imagine the downside. Learning that your favorite people are monsters – Child-craving, puppy torturing monsters parading as decent folk. Hearing what your loved ones really think of you. The unsavory and unwanted knowledge that as a species, we’re not as loving and selfless as we claim to be. One day – nay, one HOUR! – with the volume turned up on the thoughts of others, you’d be praying for cotton to stuff in your psychic ears.
Gift or curse?
Ask Rudy Weather. Here is a young man who hears it all, the private thoughts of his parents, his teachers, his peers, his heroes. Here is a man who wish there was a mute button.
“One afternoon I stood next to Yvonne Dean, the prettiest girl in the school, in hopes of getting a glimpse of her innermost being. She stood at her locker, all curvy and blonde and pulling off a sweater. When the sweater came off, I was standing before her.
Her thoughts were as ugly as the rest of her was divine.
“Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, God. Rudy Weather! If he touches me, I’ll scream. I’ll scream and throw up, I just know I will.”
I sucked a thought from the family doctor I had been seeing for years as he pressed a stethoscope to my chest. The voice that fluttered out of his head was slick and dark like a bat. I didn’t understand what I heard.
“So tender and shy, this one. I’d like to get him down in my basement.”
Five years later, they found the bodies of six children in his cellar.”
Nasty stuff. But it gets worse. Oh, so much worse for Rudy Weather, reader of minds. Find out how in Box of Lies.
Sign up for my newsletter at http://www.marklaflamme.com/newsletter
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