Note from Author: Decided to upload this on a lark on the cusp of 2008. Suppose you could call this dark!Hisoka, but that's a total lie. Just call it a "Happy Friggin' New Year's" present from Nathan, and count yourself lucky it wasn't worse.
Oh, right, and even though it's more OC-centric than you can imagine, I don't Teh Own Hisoka, or the bit about it being turtles all the way down, or even the concept of empathy.
Funny, I see myself taking this down shortly. Whatever. It's New Year's Day. I should be in bed. Good night.
Sometimes I can hear the walls.
Empathy's a bit of a bitch that way, isn't it? It comes and it goes, but it always takes you by surprise. Like when I was taking the train and I realized that the visual world had gone away, replaced by that . . . other world.
Everyone does it differently. I knew a kid once who saw thoughts; if he focused, he could hear them. He said that I had a pretty color for someone with my personality -- midnight blue, with silvery streaks. And the girl who smelt intentions -- cinnamon was love, and hot pepper was murder, she told me. Apparently I smell like an enchilada -- faintly spicy, but mostly like baked goods.
But you understand what I mean. Everyone feels it differently. For me, it's not sight or smell -- nor is it taste. It's more like telepathy or -- well, everything happens in my mind's eye, really.
See, most of us who are cursed choose to help people. Me?
Well, you get three guesses, honey, and the first two don't count.