Instalment Sixty Eight

I have a talent. A power. A curse. Drive me to anger, rage, annoyance or inconvenience and my eyes narrow. I don’t wish ill, I’m not inhuman, my thoughts betray me. Not my conscious mind, a reflex defensive malfunction.

My mind kills.
I don’t control it. Can’t. Control.

Annoyance is a daily occurrence.

The curse was bad.

I went to my family dinner, it got worse.

I turned myself in.
This guy, the cop laughed, thinks he kills people with his thoughts.

You must believe me, I screamed at his corpse.

It took the death of 17 Doctors and nurses before isolation was achieved. No human contact, not even voice, if I don’t know you I can’t kill you. But I still remember people.

A green cursor blinks on the black screen. someone must have died.

What have you been thinking?

Just reading, I say.

I have books, nothing new, dead writers only, author pages ripped out.

Have you been emotional today?

Yes. Your questions annoy me.

Revanchist, does it anger you that you, you have hurt everyone you have ever loved or cared about, family friends? That you are cause of your own misery?

That does make me angr…