‘Nobody Knows It but Me’ by Franco Amati

Back when I had a brain that worked, I only ever said nice things. I would think different things, of course — things that weren’t nice. But I only ever let the nice things come out, because I wanted to seem like a good person. Ever the peacemaker. If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all. Now I really can’t say anything at all, and it kills me.

“What would you like for lunch, Ellis? Chicken salad or tuna? Maybe some rice?” Martha asked. She held up my special menu displaying huge, high-definition photos of various food options.

Cheeseburger. I want a cheeseburger.

“I think he glanced at the chicken salad. Get the chicken salad, Cindy. Ellis wants my chicken salad.”

“He does not,” Cindy said. “He’s just staring off into space.”

“Get the Decider,” Martha said. “I showed you how to hook it up. You grab the sensors right there, and, yeah, that’s it. Right on the temple. One on each side — yep.”

“Do I press this button here?” Cindy asked. At least Cindy smelled nice. And she wasn’t as dense as the rest of the workers. “Like this, Martha?”

Martha was older, meaner, a little controlling. She was the manager at Heraldry House, and she enjoyed letting everyone know it. “Right, and then you make eye contact with him and clearly ask the question out loud … and wait …”

“Wait for what?”

“You wait for the answer. Jesus, don’t be stupid. The machine interprets his brain signals, and the auto-voice thingy tells you what he wants. But you have to give him the choices again or it doesn’t work.”