It took about 80 years for the loss of privacy to become normal.

At first there was joy and excitement. Human evolution in real time. Incredible. My grandma told me that for a while a lot of people didn't believe. Telepathy? In our time? It sounded like a party trick at best, a con at worst. But as more evidence was revealed and more scientists agreed the truth became accepted. 10% of the world had been born with telepathic ability. Of course they'd always been there -- self proclaimed empaths, women's intuition, people who always seemed to know just what was bothering you -- but now there was hard evidence that they were something more. Something different. And the world has never been kind to those who are different.

Over time, normal people grew suspicious and angry at the thought of coexisting with telepaths. Your innermost thoughts out in the air for a stranger to traipse through. Or worse, a friend or family member. Stories began to pop up in the news. Wife divorces husband when neighbor warns her of his amorous thoughts toward her sister. Straight-A student reads test answers straight from teacher's brain. CEO arrested when secretary sees memory of embezzlement. People grew paranoid. Trust drained from house to house. Then the murders started.

Men, women, even children. Every day you'd hear news of a new lynching. Some with evidence, some without, all horrific. The talking heads screamed on the radio and tv stations. A blow against the telepaths was a blow for a freedom, a blow for privacy. Forsake those who seek to walk through your thoughts without permission, whether they be friend, wife or son. People -- both telepath and normal -- were afraid. The normal turned to invention and capitalism. Telepathic helmets filled the stores. Constantly playing music or static they swore the relentless incoming sound would be enough to drown out your own thoughts from the inside and the out. Telepath detectors came along as well. Meant to beep whenever a mind reader crossed your path, they were mostly crap, led to more deaths than security but still they flew off the shelves.

The telepaths lived in fear. Only 10 percent of the population yet the most vulnerable, they learned to hide their abilities. To show no reaction in the face of all manner of thoughts - vile, sexy, murderous. They became secret keepers of the highest order. To reveal the truth of someone's innermost self was to risk your own life.

It wasn't enough to keep them same. They turned to the government for protection.

100 years after the first telepath was discovered nearly all of them work for the state. Most in law enforcement, being a human lie detector comes in handy when investigating crime. A few work on the sidelines of the legislature, monitoring swearing ins making sure people actually mean that pledge they take in the country's name. It was the deal they struck for protection. Safety in exchange for servitude.

A lot of people I know hate telepaths. I don't. I pity them. What use is it to see into the hearts of man and find nothing but hatred for yourself and your kind? Yes, they're the chosen weapon of the government but what other options did they have but to swept up, labeled, followed and forced into a role they never asked for in order to survive. After so many decades it's hardly a choice anymore.

Children are tested for telepathy in their first year of school now. The ones marked positive are taken away and raised in a facility where they can hone their skills. The parents are barely given the chance to say goodbye.

I don't hate the telepaths but I do steer clear of them. I live far away from the city in a cabin near a creek. I wear my helmet in public and try to keep my mind blank.

And I pray that for the sake of my family the only telepath I ever see is the one who calls me mom.

Everybody hates a telepath. Me, especially. I've got secrets that I don't want pried out of my skull for the world to see.

The name that I tell everyone that I have isn't mine. The parents that I post on social media are photoshopped out of stock photos, and the apartment that I take my friends to is miles away from where I actually live. I've been running for my life for ten years, but wherever I go, I try to give those who know me the impression that I'm standing still. I like it that way; causes less suspicion, and I need all of the trust that I can get.

I invited a date to my fake apartment an hour ago: a nice enough girl, I guess, but dating's something I've never really taken any interest in. Her name was Deborah and she had shiny white teeth that threw me off whenever I wanted to get a word in edgewise between her rants about her job and cats and hobbies. Dinner like that had been downright terrible, but at least I was able to confirm that she could not, in fact, read minds, and that her Tinder profile had been truthful about that fact.

(Like I said before, everyone hates a telepath. They're much more likely to violate minds without consent, so most telepaths put their abilities on their dating profiles ahead of time. For transparency, they say.)

I figured I'd string Deborah along for a few more dates. I'd only gone out with her in the first place because the guys at my work had been getting suspicious about my lack of a sexual life, and had even started mock-casually bringing up girls that they could set me up with in conversation. That needed to stop right away. I don't know what I'd do if some random woman showed up to my fake-apartment, when I was... busy.

I'm busy tonight. Now that Deborah has left, I've started The Ritual.

I peel off each article of clothing, stretch, and allow my Normal Face to fall away. I stare at myself in the mirror for a while. My eyes look cold, and dead, and inhuman. Like an uncaged animal.

I will kill someone tonight. I will drape myself in black and stretch rubber gloves over my hands before I drive a knife into their chest three times: exactly three. Always three. Then, I will take a lock of hair from the corpse, stuff it in a Ziplock baggie, and stash it away in my closet with the others.

The whole thing will probably take about three hours. I'll be back before dinner.

This is what I obsess over in the hours when I allow myself to drift into fantasy. Wide eyes, pooling blood, and that awful, awful smell. For some reason that remains a mystery, it excites me, lights my skin on fire.

I don't understand it, and I doubt anyone else could either -- especially not the police, and especially not from some suspecting telepath with a penchant for picking up on thoughts that circle around a person's head 24/7.

My phone vibrates in my pocket just as I'm setting my knives onto the bed, sharpened and shined in good order. Deborah. She wants to meet me for dinner at a nearby bistro. My hands clench and I shout into the silence of my apartment. Bitch.

If this is what having a girlfriend is going to be like, it's going to be too much effort. I'd rather move again and start over. Nevertheless, I have to meet her now, to avoid suspicion. I put on my Normal Clothes and arrange my features into my Normal Face in the mirror, trying not to grimace at the unpleasantness of the sensation.

The bistro is crowded by the time I get there, because of course she decided to schedule dinner during the busiest time of the night. I sit in a booth and tap at my watch, hoping that this will end soon enough for me to have some chance of completing The Ritual once I get back. I might not be able to stay for more than an hour.

I wait twenty minutes. Thirty. I sip multiple cups of coffee, my leg bouncing up and down. She comes in finally at six forty-five, sliding into the booth in a thick woolen sweater.

"Hey," she says, smiling with her too-white teeth.

"You're late."

"Sorry." She shrugs. "Work got busy down at the station."

Right. Deborah's a police officer. That's part of the reason why your eyes lit up when you saw her profile: if you managed to subdue her, you might buy the confidence of a few cops along the way. Could come in handy. Still, tonight it seems like too much trouble.

"Should we order?" she says abruptly, cutting into my thoughts. I nod, and make eye contact with a nearby waitress.

I notice as our entrees arrive that Deborah's been staring at me. Not in a benign, I'm-in-love kind of way, but in a puzzling, calculated fashion. It throws me off.

"Everything alright?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says, and the words falter. "Everything's just fine, Charlie."

The word falls over me like a bucket of cold water. My mouth hangs open. "What?"

"I said, everything's fine."

"No, you said-" You're sputtering, now. "You called me Charlie."

"Well, it's your name, isn't it?"

"Nobody's called me Charlie in years. Decades."

Deborah's shaking slightly. "Yes, I know," she says. "I know everything."

And that moment, the world begins to spin out of whack. "No," I breathe. "You're not--"

"I am. I'm a telepath."

Silence stretches long miles between them.

For some reason, she breaks through the quiet with a laugh. "Nobody wants to date me when I tell them that, so when I got on Tinder, I lied. Of course, you lie, too, and more often." Her gaze levels with mine. "That whole lunch we spent together, I could hear you thinking about those dead girls. Over and over again, their names circled around your head, so loud that I could hardly focus, and I started talking about the most inane things... I knew you wouldn't notice. With thoughts that noisy, I don't know how you can focus on anything or anyone else."

I put my head in my hands. "This is the end, isn't it," I say between my fingers.

"Yes." Her voice is cool and calm. "There are officers waiting for us to come out outside. It's over."

It's over. All of the blood, the death, the screams... I can't imagine another way. There is no other way.

My hand inches towards the steak knife that sits next to my plate, and my mind tries to keep itself carefully blank. The moment that my hands graze the familiar cold touch of steel, the world goes black.

--

Years later, Deborah stands in front of a hospital, thoughts spinning around her head.

Martha. Maria. Kaylen. Diana.

These thoughts aren't her own. They've been burrowing through her skull for years; a virus, making her temperature rise and her hands twitch to do horrible bloodied things.

Sarah. Donna. Ashley.

So loud she can't think, the desire to plunge a knife in three, exactly three times.

Natalia. Leah.

She steps inside the hospital's sliding doors and approaches reception. "Hello," she says. "I'd like to admit myself to the psych ward. I think I'm going to do something terrible."

She can sense the receptionist's abilities, and his fear as his thoughts burrow into her mind.

"Martha. Maria," the receptionist says aloud, then clamps a hand over his mouth as if he'd sworn.

"Oh, God. Martha. Maria." The words spill out of Deborah, and tears drip down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

My apartment became my safe haven, as I spent my days and nights within the walls, trying to protect myself from the telepaths. But one night, something strange happened. I felt a presence in my room, like a presence that was trying to uncover my secrets. I tried to stay still, but I couldn't help but let out a scream, which echoed throughout my apartment.

The presence began to chuckle, and I slowly backed away. I felt a chill go down my spine as I realized what was happening. A telepath had entered my home, and they were trying to uncover my secrets. I had to find a way to get away from them.

I made a break for it and ran out into the streets. I felt the presence still following me, trying to uncover my secrets. I kept running, but I could feel the presence getting closer and closer. I was almost out of breath when I reached the edge of the city and into the woods.

I thought I had managed to escape, but then I heard their laughter. The telepath was still following me. I was about to give up, when I realized that I had one chance to save myself. I could use my own special power, one that I had hidden all this time.

I closed my eyes, and I unleashed my power. I could feel the telepath being taken away from me. I had managed to save myself, but I knew the consequences of using my power. I would never be able to return to the city, and I would never be able to tell anyone about what had happened that night. I was now an outcast, with a dark secret that I could never share.

“It’s the 10 year anniversary of the brutal lake view apartment massacre.” I turned the TV off out of habit. It’s been 10 years since 10% of the population suddenly got telepathic powers. It’s also been 10 years since the massacre that happened in my old apartment building. For 10 years I tried to forget what happened. For 10 years I lived in a remote island, away from the telepaths. I yearned to share that beautiful sight with them, to it share with the world. When I close my eyes I could see it. An art work that had achieved perfection. Something no human can ever hope to create. I never realised whether it was gift or curse. But I knew that I had to put an end to it.

There were many who tried to find me. But no one was as persistent as the first telepathic journalist to cover the incident. After 10 years she had finally found me.

“Today, I will be able to see it again.” I said to myself, as I heard the footsteps outside. I grabbed my gun, my heart beat quickened with a mix of expectation, anxiety and euphoria.

I stood near the door and waited for her telepathic range to reach me. I could feel her telepathy searching my brain. I could feel all her thoughts as she felt mine. She was looking through my memories. The memories of my childhood, then my teenage years until she found that night. A group of teenage telepath’s accidentally linking all the brains of the residents of the lake view apartment. It was an enlightening experience. To know that everyone was going through something. That everyone had secrets. It was peaceful.It was until they awakened that thing inside my brain. A remnant of a being out of our understanding, sealed inside the psyche of an ordinary human. She saw it too. She saw perfection beyond human comprehension and she how the sight of that being turned humans into ashes. It was too late. She had seen it and she knew her life was going to end.
It never harmed me and I always felt a feeling of devotion and bliss upon seeing it. “I’m sorry. I just needed to see it one last time.” I told to what remained of my nemesis, as I pulled the trigger, falling into its embrace.

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Ever since this stupid world awakened their genes to read minds, it's been harder and harder to hide the truth from people. The world was already in shambles and barely formed back into a working society. How will they react when they realize a dragon from a completely different plane of existence is walking amongst them? I always used my human form though, and as long as I keep my thoughts on human-related things, I should be fine. My thoughts kept trailing aimlessly. Then again, I smiled to myself. When in doubt, I can just merge worlds and let more chaos in. As long as my secret is hidden, I don't care that much.

Fixing my hair into a ponytail, I sighed heavily before wearing a crop top with shorts. Love showed off my muscular physique, then I prepared my preferred breakfast. Pancakes with mayonnaise, it was so delicious! I never understood why no one tried this combo out, it was one of the best flavors in the world. After putting up the dishes, I walked outside and began my trek to the city. Living in the forest has its perks and disadvantages, one of the perks is being able to do your rituals in peace and the disadvantage is walking to the city for trips. There are a couple of reasons for going to the city today and one reason is to get supplies for rituals. Good thing they actually believe in the powers of crystals and powers beyond their mortal understanding.

This store had one of the best ingredients for a while. Walking inside, I picked up my routine. Some crystals and salamander feet. Anything else that came to mind, I picked up holding a large bag of supplies. Subconsciously making my way to the counter, my thoughts was on a new ritual. A spell to leech some of the other plane life force. Snapping their fingers, someone grabbed my attention.

"Yeah, screw you too! Asshole." She shouted back. There was something wrong, though. What ritual? What other world? This damn gene is a curse and she will figure out who the spell is for. Spells can't exist, right?

I bowed my head in apology, reaching into my pocket and placing down a hundred-dollar bill."You can keep the rest, I don't care." Grabbing the bag and walking out of the store.

"Yeah, screw you too! Asshole." She shouted back. There was something wrong, though. What ritual? What other world? This damn gene is a curse and she will figure out who the spell is for. Spells can't exist right?

Thanks for tuning into Ted’s Head, I thought, as I walked into the garland-decked cafe. Up next, please enjoy our Holiday Mix, starting now.

In the second or two before I hit the play button on my phone, I saw a man in the corner - brown buzz-cut hair, shiny black shoes, corduroys and dress shirt - frown in confusion. I’d spotted him as I was parking, and had him pegged for either a store manager or an undercover cop. Not for any reason, as far as I could tell - he just had that kind of vibe, y’know?

My theory was confirmed as I hit the play button, and began mentally broadcasting the chiming of bells from my earbuds. The man winced, shot me a brief glare, then pulled a pair of headphones from around his neck and popped them on. He wasn’t the only one - behind the counter, an exhausted-looking barista was openly staring at me, his face contorted into a grimace that was somewhere between despair and bemusement.

I-I-I, crooned Mariah Carey’s voice. Don’t want a lot… fo-o-or Christmas…

“Really, Ted?” the barista asked, as I handed him a ten. “Really?”

I only smiled in reply as he handed me a cup of coffee and my change. There is just one thing I nee-eed, Mariah Carey continued.

I loved the holidays. They made it so easy to keep people out of my head. Normally, I had to resort to either dubstep or else whatever meme songs were freshly stale, but during November and December, privacy was easy.

And I needed privacy.

I headed out of the cafe, unfolding my umbrella to ward off the chilly early-December drizzle. The bookstore where I worked was only a few doors down, and the stores to either side of mine had been vacant for as long as I could recall. Considering I worked alone, and that the Readers’ range was only about twenty feet, that meant I could relax as soon as I was inside. This I did, sighing as I collapsed into the warm, squashy armchair behind my counter, the smell of fresh coffee mingling with the vanilla-like aroma of old paper as I raised the cup to my lips.

Why did I need privacy? Well, it wasn’t because of anything illegal. There were no drug deals or criminal activities I was involved with, no perversions that I fought to hide from the newly-gifted Readers. In most places, the folks with those kinds of secrets had been… attended to, with a sluggishness and inefficiency that the rest of us tried not to remember when the pigs were around. No, mine was the only kind of secret left - the weird kind. The kind that would get you mocked, ridiculed even, but not arrested.

Most Readers wouldn’t divulge those kinds of secrets, of course. The ones I talked to regularly, like Otto the barista, were usually stuck with some degree of voyeuristic guilt, which led them to avoid divulging people’s thoughts unless they had a damn good reason. It was just, y’know, it would only take one loose-lipped Reader to divulge my secret, and then my life would never be the same again.

After all, I thought, looking down at the TED etched into the nameplate on my desk, how the hell are you supposed to look a man in the eye when you know his name is short for Tiddlywinks?

Thanks, Dad.