Perception

[Therin]

"The discovery of NoSPeD will herald a massive revolution in the science of human security."
~Newsweek, March 4th, 2045

"NonSelective Perceptive Disorder presents frightening implications as to the processing power of the human brain."
~American Medical, April 10th, 2045

"NoSPeD scares me."
~Dr. M. L. Villati, PhD

Though we do not realize it, we, as humans live almost the entirety of our lives using perhaps ten percent of our brain. One wonders why there is so much of it that remains unused...

In 2031, it was clinically proven, beyond doubt, that during situations of extreme trauma, ie: a life-threatening car accident, falling down a 100 story building, or something of that nature, the entire brain was active. No one could figure out exactly what it was doing, though. In 2033, an anonymous scientist decided to ask people who had survived similar events this question: What went through your head while all this was happening?

Every single answer was the same: "Everything." "I could see all the seperate shards of glass, I could hear them tinkle against each other. I could see a few droplets of blood as they floated forward. I percieved everything."

The theory that sprung from that unknown man's research was this: During those times of extreme trauma, the survival instinct that is so strong in the human race comes to the fore. It comes forward so strongly that it overtakes all normal actions of the brain. Normally, human eyes have a focal point that is about the size of a dime, in which actual detail can be seen. When the survival instinct takes over, there is no more focal point. Every nanometer of vision comes into perfect detail and clarity. Normally, any given person will be able to actively listen to one or two things, maybe three, if they are extremely proficient at multitasking, before they start to tune things out. During the aforementioned situations, nothing gets tuned out. Every single sound that can be heard is heard, clearly and distinctly. The same general effect goes for taste, smell, and touch. The normally unused ninety percent of brain tissue finally has a use now: It is used to process the massive overload of information that is recieved. Current theory states that the reason for this is that, in the final few seconds of life, the brain is going through every detail of its surroundings, looking for even the most meager of hopes of survival, and acting on it. Thus, we have the occasional survivor of a normally fatal crash, who, for some reason formerly beyond fathomability, twisted to the side at the last instant, or managed to smash their head in just the right place so as not to die instantly.

In 2036, the first case of NonSelective Perceptive Disorder, a variant of autism, was documented: an eight-year-old Israeli child who, it was proven, was physically unable to ignore. Anything. Sounds eerily familiar, doesn't it? This child prodigy graduated college two years later, at the unprecedented age of ten, and committed suicide by overdosing on sleep pills the year after that. Tests showed that he used, on average, ninety percent of his brain.

Fast-forward to the present: March of 2054

Beginnings . 1

Peter Johns arrived at his house earlier than he had expected. To pass the time, he navigated the polymorphic hedge maze in his front yard, between his parking space and his front door. With his eyes closed. Just to see if he could. He sighed with dissatisfaction as he put his key into the locking mechanism of his front door. The birds sounded happy today. There was a growing termite infestation in the left post of the doorframe. He would have to have something done about that. He stopped just before he turned the key. His eyes were still closed. The pins in the lock sounded different. He removed the key and stalked back into the maze to find the correct one that he now knew had been planted there. He kept his eyes closed, enjoying the challenge.

An hour later, he unlocked the front door with the new key. The automated butler greeted him cordially and asked if he had something in his eyes.

"Nope," he said, "Just practicing."

"Very good sir." was the offhand reply. Jinks had been written with no curiosity.

James and Mary stopped their conversation about political candidates as he walked by. He could imagine their looks of curiosity, and then of resignation. They had given up trying to understand Peter. Just for fun, he went up the stairs backwards. Entered his room backwards. Before he closed the door, he called down to J and M, as he thought of them, "Get the doorposts checked for termites." Only after he closed the door did he finally open his eyes.

Beginnings . 2

"Any identification?...Her optical scans?...Prints?...DNA?...Ok, put out a Jane Doe with her picture and see if we get any hits...Thanks...You too, love. 'Night."

She opened her eyes. Slowly. White curtains, hanging from mass-produced steel rods embedded in green walls connected with a deep blue, flat-tiled floor, upon which sat a wheeled office chair infront of a desk, with a computer, reams of paper, and attendant human being, across the room from whom was an open window through which drifted air that smelled of cats, dogs, rubbish, city smog, steam, dirt, rust, stone, and, very faintly, of grass, air that circulated the room but failed to escape through the closed door, which was brown with the slight indentations that signified a recessed print-reader handle, which would probably only read the prints of a hospital official like the attendant human at the desk, which was also brown, and seemed dark in contrast to the human's white hospital coat, which looked rumpled, as did the human's hair, which was iron gray and short, signifying that it was probably male, and hadn't slept in an unhealthy amount of time, had been in this room instead, sitting on that brown, cushioned but still uncomfortable-looking chair that now rolled smoothy back from the desk and swiveled around to face her. Her eyes, having not moved an iota, shut quickly to an accurate portrayal of sleep. Footsteps approached, closer than the barking that came through the window, but farther than the rythmic beeping that emanated from a whirring machine just behind her head and reminded her of the machines back at The Lab, which had also produced sounds that resembled, but didn't quite equal the sounds of humanity going on outside the window that, judging from the volume of the sounds coming through it, was on the first floor of what was probably a hospital in what sounded like the a mid-slummish part of whatever town this happened to be, which helped to explain the rumpled appearance of her attendant human, who had stopped moving slightly less than a foot from the side of the bed and had leaned over her, his coat rustling as he did so, until his face was very close to hers, because she could feel his breath, smelling of ale, breath gum, and, underlying, stress and sorrow. Deep sorrow, that was beginning to rise to the surface. She opened her eyes and asked him, softly, "When did she die?"

Discoveries . 2

The sun flashed through the window, reflected off the windshield of a passing car, as he jumped back, his eyes going wide and his mouth opening to gasp while his wrinkled hands jerked the hospital bed sharply. Her eyes didn't move. They stared straight up at the ceiling, focused on everything.
"How did you-?" he bit his sentence off in the middle, afraid to ask.
She spoke kindly, her voice full of sympathy. "You're still in love with her. In love with..." she frowned thoughtfully, still apparently staring a the ceiling, "...a shadow? a thought? A memory. You are in love with a memory, Stephen."
"What the-!" his face contorted with sorrow and fear as he stepped back farther from the woman on the bed, "Who are you?"
"You must never forget that memory. Never forget. It will hold you up when nothing else will. But at the same time...You must free your love, Stephen. Free it, to run its own course. She is out there, and you will find her again, eventually."
"No! Be quiet! I don't know what you're talking about!" he turned and stumbled for the door, calling for security.
When he returned, with guards behind him to restrain the patient, the patient was gone. On the desk was a note, written in pen.
She loves you, Stephen. She always will. But you cannot love a memory, or you will destroy yourself. Release it. Let your sorrow out, and let your love run free.
There was a post script.
I am sorry I have caused you such distress. I wanted to help.
The paper on which the note had been written was sprinkled with wetness. There was a five dollar bill tacked to the window sill. The doctor picked it up slowly as the disgruntled guards waited in the doorway. Then he turned and told them to go back to their duties. When they asked if they should pursue the escapee, the doctor replied with a negative. Her brain was in overdrive, but otherwise working fine. She wasn't a danger to herself or society. It wasn't until he looked down, read the note, and began to cry that he realized that the box of tissues he kept in his desk had dissappeared. At that point, he didn't care. His wife had been killed in a car accident a month and three days ago. He didn't know how this patient had known, or how she had known his name, but he didn't care about that either. He simply buried his head in his arms and began to sob, deep, wailing, soul-wrenching sobs. He cried her name a few times, without realizing it.
He used the five to buy a box of tissues on the way home that night.

She strode slowly down the sidewalk in her hospital gown, listening to the people milling around and doing people things and pausing to glance her way as she walked past. The emotions that floated around her were normal people emotions, except for the two that followed her, which were flat, and the four that converged on her from the sides, which were deeply angry and violent. She paused to dry her eyes with the last tissue from the box, and then turned silently into a convenient alley. Two of the deep red ones were in there, while the other two were crossing the street. The darkness alley smelled of trash, and rot, and human waste. And of human sweat. It had been a hot day, and she could hear them when they started forward to try to take her. She hurled the tissue box at the one on the left before he came in sight, and before he could react. He lost an eye to one of the corners as she darted forward and slammed her bare foot into the other one's groin. Both men screamed and the two crossing the street increased their pace.
Then she straightened and closed her eyes to relieve some of the processing pressure on her brain so that it could be used for something else. She saw their thoughts and emotions, and those of the everyone within range of her ability. The couldn't focus on them, but she didn't need to. She pinpointed their deep reds, and mentally crushed them. Then she opened her eyes and turned around. Two homeless men, apparently no different from any other hobos, lay twitching in the middle of the street. Two men in black suits and ties, wearing black sunglasses, rounded the corner into the alley. One spoke into the microphone on his collar, "Ok. We've found the psychic," while the other tossed a briefcase in her direction. She opened it up and gratefully donned her suit, leaving the hospital gown to collect dirt in the alley.

She stood some five feet and seven inches tall, covered from her neck down in skintight, blue material of an elastic nature that provided for easy movement. Her long, raven-colored hair she tied securely behind her head so that it would stay out of her face. Her feet were covered by the ninja suit, and nothing else, as were her hands. A sigil was displayed on her torso, two interlocking rings. The secret symbol of the government's military/intelligence merger.
Despite this, imposing image, her eyes remained soft as she thanked the two emotionless men before her. She thought about Stephen, the doctor, most of the way to the safehouse, wondering if he had gotten her note, wondering if he had taken her advice. Wondering if he would remember her.

[To Be Continued]
Change of pace. Not to dissappoint Dai, it's definitely not a documentary :p. Again, tell me your thoughts and feel free to ask questions.

[Suna-chan]

woah! that's really cool to think about! I liked reading that, and i would like to hear more of it! It really captured my attention because it does sound so real, especially with the way you offered real dates and things ^^

[starlitdancer]

Good start ~ v. riveting and thought-provoking. Hope you post more soon.

[Therin]

Uptaded!

[reaper]

An interesting Idea. I do think that there is a somewhat real instance of this, You can have it to where you cannot ignore anything around you, the kid i met it didnt seem to work for his advantage though, much more so it was a big disadvantage to him.

[Suna-chan]

wow, it really is a lot to process. I would be so stressed if i heard and saw and thought that much o.@

But it definately is a good way to show your audience exactly how that person is feeling...

[Therin]

Yeah, Autism is a real, and truly debilitating condition, but the variant that I describe here does not exist. It's a neuropsychological disorder that effects the patient's perception of the world around them. For example, they may pick up a peach, and the fuzz will be painful to them, or the smell will make them want to gag, even though it is a completely normal peach that most people would eat without hesitation. Granted, there are some people who simply don't like peaches, but do you get my meaning? Or it can be a case of sensory overload, in which they are unable to pick and choose from the things that they percieve, the way most humans do, and have to instead tune everything out.

This story marks a landmark in my career as the first story I ever did research for. :p

[reaper]

heh yeah dud i know its real, my mom teaches alot of kids who have it, i was talkin about one of them though he could hear almost every thing and it always hurt his ears

[Therin]

I don't know anyone who has it, never met anyone who has it, never even seen anyone who seemed to have it. I'm just spouting from text that I've read :p

[Shandriz]

Firstly-- you must e-mail me everything you know about autism. I've been trying to find things on it, because I have a character who is autistic, however, I'm a slacker, and haven't been doing enough research, so, yes.

Secondly-- my review.

I like it overall. I love the idea of it, and most of the way you write it. My only qualm is that in the end paragraph, there is an awful lot of run-ons. I don't know if they're official run-on sentences (I'm terrible at that sort of thing) but they feel like they go on like that because there are so many descriptions at once. Try breaking them up a little bit.

I'm interested in seeing the rest, assuredly. *thinks* You know, I really must show you Eternus Infinuum, the rpg that Emily's in. Because I think you'd rather like it.