The Internal

When he was young, and confused by animation, he began to associate his inner voice with an insect. Green and multi-limbed, any errant thought MUST be coming from the hive. Conscious is conscience is imaginary friend is thoughts. Should we worry, they said, listening to him talk to nothing in his room? The insect never told him to kill, to burn or to bleed, but he was too young to be aware of schizophrenia much less discern it from active thoughts. He is much better now.
When she was young she felt she was the only person with thoughts. Sometimes she was jealous of the other children; vapid, running wild and joyous and able to study without struggle. Other days, she felt sorry for them and their empty heads and non-imaginings and she wondered what they were even for. She is much better now.