Everyone has something. A talent. A quirk. Something that sets them apart from everyone else. People who can sing, or act, or play a sport are praised, and held high in society. The truth is we raise them to that level because we see their gifts as superior to any of our own. But there are people who’s gifts would be seen as maniac, or completely made up. Who’s everyday reality is everyone else’s bed time story. People like me. I feel things. I feel emotions. Of course everyone feels emotions. But I don’t feel my own. In fact, I’m completely numb aside from pure human instinct. Some would call me a sociopath, but I’m completely the opposite. I feel others emotions. The little girl on the park bench, crying because she fell off the swings, I feel her fear and pain. As her tears fall, I can feel every one. The woman who just got a phone call, confirming her long awaited pregnancy? I feel her utter joy as she dials the number of her husband to tell him the great news. As amazing as my gift sounds, it’s not. I don’t want to feel what everyone around me is feeling. Especially because I can’t read the thoughts that go with it. There is a reason that we keep some emotion in. It’s private, and precious. If anyone found out about me, I’d be labeled a freak. It would mean trips to labs, leading to wires and screenings. And I refuse to go down as an experiment. 1234 copyright protection762ＰＥＮＡＮＡpib6Ozr83A 尼

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