Thinking

A notepad and pen lay by her side, grown stiff from lack of use.

She used to love collecting stories and exposing untold truths.

The human mouth is reserved, filtering reality to share only the details that shed a good light. But the snippets of real, the moments when people revealed their truest thoughts, were what she had lived for.

Journalism had been her singular focus from a young age; she would do anything to improve her craft or to find a scoop.

This undying quest for untold stories was what drew her to the experimental procedure which claimed to unlock the segment of the brain that could read the thoughts of others.

This newfound spectrum of content allowed her to excel at her purpose, seeing past what people said, spawning truer, rawer articles than anyone in her field.

Weeks gave way to months, and she was dissatisfied to learn that the words people spoke were more interesting than the reveries they chose to inflict upon themselves.

She abandoned her vocation because of voices she couldn’t ignore, echoing perpetually across the chasm of her mind.

Now, she finds solace in public, allowing the combined thoughts of the crowd to settle into white noise, trying not to focus on any person too long.

Bored into inaction by the repetitive mundanity of human thoughts, she could not will herself to write or even converse with another soul.