Most of the time, my thoughts are quiet. Faint whispers of cognizance in the back of my empty head. 'I like this record.' or 'I should take this thing back to the plane' or 'I should feed soon.' Just small notices, scribbled onto a post-it note and stuck onto the inside of my skull.
Sometimes, my thoughts are silent. The effort of concentrated thought becomes too much, and I merely wander. Passing place after place and not bothering to wonder what it was or how it must've looked in a better time. Not thinking, just simply being.
But sometimes...sometimes my thoughts are loud. Whereas before they were post-it notes, now they're billboards, jammed into my head so hard I think my skull might explode and doom the both of us. 'Why can't you remember? Your job? Your family? You name?! You can't even remember why you wear those clothes.' and 'Just talk. Just say something! Say something more than four syllables!' and 'All you're designed to do is cause suffering, to steal from the living their last, most coveted trait. All for what? Ten seconds of memories?' Sometimes my thoughts become so loud that I'm forced to stop, and briefly mourn the loss of all the things that were ripped away by the cold embrace of a life of nothingness and hunger.
Most of the time, however, my thoughts are quiet.
