It’s the evening drive home. You are small enough. Lay down on the back seat. Watch the yellow street lights pulse. On, off, on, off. Look out of the half open window. Feel the cold air. Bridges break the rhythm.
Constant noise. She could hear the radio waves, signals sparking with her mind. Nothing was clear. She had lost her ear screen, and nothing hindered the words, songs, crackles, hisses, all flicking when she turned her head. She longed for silence. Her spectrum was too wide. Everyone who had lost their filter went mad eventually.