The following writings were sent to me in a .txt file from a user on a file-sharing website I had a brief encounture with. After I skimmed through it I asked the user about it, but they had already deleted their account. I am sharing it now with you as I believe it is what the original writer would have wanted. I can not vouch for the veritibility of the claims henceforth, nor do I have any views on the content of said material.

Telepath Girl.

[ah, why do I have to wait around(then if she tells me(that pitter patter sound feels nice, i don't get[shit, my socks are getting soaked] people who say they don't like(me? i swear i saw her looking my way that one time) the rain) I can't go, I'll just sneak off by myself) here for him to show up, it's getting late already, and I didn't even bring an umbrella. where does he[she's got a nice ass, fuck I'm feeling(and then just as he's about to shoot, Maria shouts out) as hell, maybe i should go up and] get off being this late, i'm gonna kick him when (damn it, it's on the tip of my tongue. do-la-mi-so-ray-mi-do... Damn it, is it from an[shave, he might think hair down there is] (he better finish it by today or...)]...//It wasn't always like this...//(...I'm calling the whole thing[oh, I like eating from there, that uh... the uh( big nose) hot chocolate! That...]//At first it was just before falling asleep. I thought it was something like lucid dreaming. Hallucinations from being on the edge of sleep...//that...(and)[time to...](away[saps] from...)[...](...HA!)[...](......) *_*But it was still there when I woke up. And when I walked to school. [...(...}]I didn't go in that day, a bus went by and I threw up. My head was so hot, but my mom said I had no temperature.

I haven't told anyone, it's not like I'm scared of being kidnapped by scientists, but I just don't see a point. Why make myself ostracized, or famous. Even those close to me, why bother them about it, it would only make them weird around me. It's not like I can be cured. They can't even cure people with tinnitus, or visual snow. I don't even know if I would want it cured. I never had trouble with grades, every test I would just latch on to whoever the smartest one in class is. I can differentiate who it is I'm listening to fairly easily, it's like telling the difference between a dream and a memory, you just know somehow. It gets a little confusing sometimes, I stay away from areas with lots of people.

I had to travel by train one time, at prime-time, and I fainted right there by the tracks. For only the briefest moment, as I opened my eyes to the concerned faces looking down at me, the only sounds I could hear were the footsteps and chattering and beeping and the sound of metal, and my heart stopped completely. The voices in my head were gone. I still don't know if that feeling was from dread that they wouldn't come back, or relief. When you get used to something, even if it's a bad thing, it becomes a part of you, and it becomes easier to bear with it than have it ripped away.

[Hey, I was wondering if you would like to go to the movies with me... No that's not right... H-Hey, would you like to see a movie with?- Yo, do you like movies? No, no no. Excuse me... Hey, I was just wondering if you'd]
He didn't go through with it.
[I'm really gonna do it. I'm gonna kill myself, I can't take this anymore, I hate it all, I hate them all so much, I can't take this anymore, I'm just gonna do it, I'm just gonna kill myself, I'll step off that bridge on my way home. Maybe it's not tall enough... I'll go to that building then, that building is definitely enough.]
She didn't go through with it, but it wasn't thanks to me. I minded my own business. Maybe you look down on me for not interviening. It's not like I wanted her to do it...

In the evening, at the end of fall, light shimmered on the wet ground - Twinkling, tiny points of white flickered in space as my eyes struggled below the dark, cloud covered moon.

I've always known what others thought about me. I've known everything, I've always known the right words to say, I've always known if people thought I was rude, or funny, or cool. Writing this is refreshing to me. Putting this out onto the internet, bearing my soul, I'll never know what others make of the real me. I'll never know their true feelings, for once.

All my life ive been trying to find the border between myself and others. there are times where I cant see it at all, and times i couldnt feel more seperate. distinct. divided. i don't think there's an answer. i don't like the word lie. the word lie necessitates truth, but i don't believe there's such a thing. behind the veil there's nothing. absolute nothing.

Well, I've walked through life unscathed, without losing any hairs. Not a singe pebble on the road, on that day without wind. Now I live quietly, away from that crowd I tried to get to know.

I don't have any words. I can't reach you. Not through song, or color. There's nothing I could scratch on this page that would let you feel. It is what it is.

"Alice gives all the characters different voices when she reads, whereas Allen just absorbes the words without imagining how they sound."

The End.

A telepath would become a recluse, and live entirely through the inner thoughts of others, abandoning their own self. Gazing with glazed eyes, seeing other people as something untouchable, like something in the night sky. They would be fulfilled living life vouyeristically. In a way, like reading twitter all day, watching lets plays all day, listening to a podcast all day. What need do I have for friends, when I'm not me?

unfinished short story, that i ran out of ideas for, inspired by Sonny Boy, and Mousou Telepathy