They say that telepathy is a gift.
But it was not a gift when I was designed as a tool—a gene-twisted thing, a tool made of meat. My gaunt, pale, body was designed by the norms for one purpose—reading the thoughts of other norms. I was made to be a psychic burglar, built to uncover the secrets that a norm hides in the lies or silences of their porous mind.
Continue reading “The Mirrors of His Eyes, the Thirst of His Soul by David Newkirk”
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