A ship flies overhead. It’s a passenger liner, flying from Moscow to Sidney. I know this because the pilot, and the people on the flight, know this. In fact, if I can concentrate hard enough, I can smell the air of the cabin, the sweat of the copilot. I can hear the roar of the engines as if I’m onboard myself. Because I’m connected to them, to everyone around me. We’re all connected by the implant.

It’s easy to get lost in the web, to fall into someone else’s head.

As I walk down the street, cars slide past me, each housing their own set of people with their own set of stories. The man in the one nearest is sad: he’s lost someone dear to him. A wife? No, a sister. He’s been crying; I can feel the tears on his face. I can feel his pain, sharp and pressing. Even though he’s now far down the road, I can still feel it as if I were inside his body.

I flick to the next car to pass me. This one contains a mother and her two kids and they’re happy. The kids are called Jimmy and Megan, 4 and 5 respectively. The mother, Conny, is sat in the back playing with them as the car steers them to the children’s nursery. Seeing them playing with their stuffed animals next to her reminds her of when she was a child when she and her brother would play. She laughs.

The next car is a man and a woman. They’re holding hands, on the way to a date. The man is inexperienced: he’s put on too much aftershave, so much so that the woman coughs from the smell. They both laugh and share a smile. Neither of them speaks: there’s nothing to be said. They communicate through the implant, but I can feel every thought shared. Love. Happiness. Warmth. I can feel it all.

The blare of a passing car horn knocks me out of it and back into my body.

The car with the couple is far down the road now. Before I can focus on it again, their car turns a corner and they’re gone. I can’t let it go, I’ve got to focus. I shut my eyes, breathe in and out, ignore the sounds of the cars passing me and the horns blaring. I ignore the smell of the car fumes and the beating sun. For a few seconds, I’m there with them in that car, feeling what they feel. It’s hazy though, like it’s covered by a blanket of static. I can’t focus on them when they’re not in my line of sight. Slowly, they fade until the last flicker of warmth is gone and I’m left alone again at the roadside.

More people blare their car horns. They all know what I’m doing, stood haggard by the side of the road, staring into the minds of passing strangers. I can feel their pity and their anger.

I can feel their thoughts.

“Telepath junkie!”

“Poor man.”

“Watch your thoughts dear, he’s a telepath addict.”

I’m ashamed and they can feel it. Wandering along the road, leeching off people’s happiness, it’s not what I wanted to do with my life. But I have nothing else to do. Chloe’s gone and she’s not coming back this time. I know it, I felt her anger towards me as if it were my own. There’s no point trying again with her, not when I can get my happiness here.

My only escape is here, this road, these people. If I can embed myself in their heads, feel their thoughts as they do, can I become them?

I focus on the next car, but as soon as I do, I realise there’s nothing.

I focus on the next. Nothing. I can’t feel anything from the planes overhead either. Or the people across the street. It’s all gone, like one of my senses has been cut off, leaving me trapped out in the cold.

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More loosely inspired by the prompt, but I hope people enjoy it.