1.

	Blood.

	I remember it washing over me -- like a crimson tidal wave.  Or a
perverse baptismal.  Everything changed after I began having the dream. 
While awake, my mind flashes razor-frames over my vision.  This taints
everything I see.

	I can look at someone, and know things.  Like who they sleep with, who
they want to sleep with, who they want to kill.  How they are going to die.

	Lately my tenuous grasp on reality has been weakening further.  My
fantasy life melds with my reality until the line blurs... then disappears
altogether.

	I've told no one about my special gift.  Of course, they'd never
believe me.  Their lives consist of work, TV, friends, and family.  Feet
firmly planted on the ground.  But not me -- awake or asleep I live in
another world.  Emotions rush through me whenever I'm in public.. low
rumbling murmurs of disjointed words assault my ears as I walk through a
crowd.  I can hear everybody's thoughts.  As clear as a perfectly-tuned
radio station.  They'll never understand.  How could they?  I've been
blessed with powers beyond their limited scope of understanding.  My mind
has gone beyond the tunnel vision of mere reality.  I can see more than
anyone has ever dreamed!

	
	2.

	Lately, I've been having a bit of trouble going out in public.  You
see, the voices cannot be ignored.  Sometimes they are so loud my own
thoughts are drowned out.  Even going down to the corner store has become
an exercise in terror.

	Yesterday, I summoned up the courage to take a walk down to my local 7-
11.  I dressed, and proceeded down the street. I then heard a faint buzzing
in my left ear.  It was gaining volume rapidly.  I then heard a loud jumble
of words -- like somebody rapidly flipping through radio stations.  A few
yards ahead I saw a postal carrier -- laboriously making his daily rounds.

	As he passed me, the thoughts slammed through me like an onrushing
train.  I felt such depression, such sadness, such boredom.  The man was
obviously sick of his job.  I probed deeper into his thoughts -- and was
struck with a vision of despair.  Alone, he sat on his living room couch,
absently watching television.  In his hand was the heavy weight of a .38
revolver.  He glanced down at the pistol, spun the chamber with a flick of
his wrist, and raised the gun to his left eye.  He pressed it gently to his
eye socket.  He then slowly cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger.  His
body shook as bits of brain and gristle splattered the wall behind him. 
Then it was dark.

	As the man walked past, our eyes met.  I looked at him with horror.  He
glanced back with despair.  I continued onward...

	The store clerk was from some middle-eastern country as was typical for
7-11 employees.  He spoke in a thick, syncopatic accent that required
intense concentration to interpret.  He asked me how I was doing in that
almost musical rhythm, and I sluggishly responded:

	"Fine."
	"That is very good.  I myself am not doing very well.  My wife passed
on yes-ter-day." he said.

	I nodded thoughtfully, seeing for a second the coffin lowering slowly
in the 6-foot abyss.  The quiet tears shed by the next of kin as the
preacher quoted an appropriate verse about everlasting life.  The scene
faded back to the store...

	I don't go out much anymore.


	3.

	I awoke with a start to the sound of screaming.  I rushed to my window
to see what was going on just as the knife pierced her perfect flesh.  She
fell to the ground like a sack of laundry, and her attacker ran off into
the shadows.  I remember the sound of his shoes clicking off the pavement. 
I remember the dark stain spreading beneath her body like an exploding pen. 
I remember the streetlights glinting off her necklace.  And I remember her
lifeforce snuffed out like a candle.

	The cold steel penetrating like a sadistic lover... making a hole one
second -- and filling it the next.  The razor-smile of my murderer as I
began to fade into blackness.  The final brutal impact as I slumped to the
cold concrete.  In my last breaths I felt the blood oozing out of me like
urine staining the clothes of an untrained child.  The feeling of intense
rage as my consciousness crumbled to dust.  Then the black.

	Midnight.  Silent.  I felt my soul swallowed by Darkness.  And then
nothing...

	As I stared at her lifeless frame, I felt as though I had died with
her.  Her mind was silent now -- but her eyes spoke volumes.  She would
never laugh again.  She would never again cry.  She would only know the
perfect static silence of death.

	To sleep, and never wake.

	I heard sirens in the distance as I crawled back over to my bed.  As I
lay on my soft pillow, and pulled the sheets up over my trembling body, I
had only one wish.  To not be inside the mind of the man that zipped up the
body bag.

	I passed into fitful sleep -- images of the shiny silver blade
surfacing for a few seconds.  Like a bad supper that refuses to stay down.

	I didn't sleep well that night.


	4.

	The next few days passed in a blur -- one melting into the next.  The
murmurs would sometimes be whispers, sometimes screams from the far side of
Hell.  I had almost gotten used to the idea of sharing thought with
strangers.  Almost.

	Today I walked down to the library.  I spend quite a bit of time with
my nose in a book -- I prefer to be alone.  I always have.  I glanced up
and down aisle upon aisle of tomes, searching for something to while away
the hours with.  I happened upon a collection of Lovecraft stories --
written before all that Necromonicon nonsense.  In other words, the good
stuff.

	I sat in a quiet corner, book in hand, and flipped absently through the
pages.  Just as I was about to begin "The Color Out of Space", the whispers
began.

	I had no idea who the source of the thoughts was, but I was aroused by
the low, husky voice of the sender.

	I felt her body tense with excitement -- her every nerve alive with
arousal.  The sensation of rising nipples pressing against her blouse, the
crotch of her panties moistening as she fantasized.

	Her breathing quickened as she imagined a tall man laying between her
spread legs and sliding home.  My breath caught as I shared the experience. 
It was almost indescrible.  The delicious friction as his firm, long penis
slid rhythmically in and out of her slick vagina.

	Her panties soaked further as she pictured his ejaculation.  The
sensation of his orgasm washed over my mind like a tidal wave.

	I saw through her eyes as she walked towards the librarian's desk and
asked for the bathroom key.  I felt her heart hammering with anticipation
as she opened the door, walked in, and stared at herself in the mirror.

	She slowly removed her blouse -- feeling the rough material rub against
her breasts.  She unsnapped her jeans and slowly lowered the zipper.  She
licked her right index finger and lightly stroked her forest of pubic hair.

	She then walked over to the toilet and pulled her pants down.  She sat
on the slightly warm porcelain, and closed her eyes.  With one hand, she
gently kneaded her left breast.

	With the other, she slowly massaged her clit in a circular motion. 
With her index finger still playing with her erect clit, she slowly ran her
other hand through her pubic hair.

	And then inside...

	My mind exploded with sensation as she quickly thrust two fingers, then
three in and out of her cunt.  Her vaginal walls responded instantly --
lubing for the occasion.

	I felt her first orgasm about two minutes later -- frying my nerve-
endings with electric sensation.

	
	5.

	As I write this my hands are trembling.  I feel like a recovering
alcoholic trying helplessly to stay on the wagon.  My nerves have frayed
like torn fabric in the past two days.  I wish I could share my burden...
the weight of my secret has become too much to bear.

	The episode yesterday in the library opened my eyes to how isolated I
have become.  My arrogance has now fallen sway to intense loneliness.  I
can't seem to connect anymore... I know what people will say before they
do.  I know what they will be doing in two weeks or two days.  But at what
cost?

	My mind has become a (---KILL---) cluttered mess of images.  It's like
a TV station that I can't shut off. (MY WIFE IS A SLUT)

	Thoughts rush through my head like pirate RADIO transmissions.  My HEAD
is pounding with RAGE.  My (blood) races through my veins.  Death (I'M
GOING TO KILL YOU) dreams are all I see.

	My sanity (I'M NOT CRAZY -- EVERYONE ELSE IS!) has disappeared never to
return.

	I can't turn off the VOICES in my head.  I can't (SHUT OFF SHUT IT OFF
SHUT) THINK for myself anymore.  I can't be MYself anymore.

	(I HATE MY HUSBAND)
	(...and then Bob threw up on him! Can you believe it?)
	(KILL/KILL/KILL/KILL/KILL/KILL/KILL/KILL)

	The gun feels good in my HAND.  I pull back the HAMMER and press the
off switch.

  
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