The mind is a difficult thing to understand. No one knows where the conscience is placed inside the brain, or why the brain works the way it does. Neurons and pathways scientist would say. I would say predetermined actions through a data base of instructions selected by the little voice inside your head. I say so because I see it in everyone.

“Martin? You still with me?” Sarah said waving her hand in my face. “You’re spacing out again.” She took my pad from my hands and sat back in her chair again. I gave no resistance as she looked over the lines in my book.

“Is this one of your friends?” She would ask as I thought she would, support workers always had more interesting thought patterns. Solely based on the thoughts on how to improve another person other than yourself made it difficult to read what they want. Being selfless has one thinking of others more than oneself. and the fact that they want to put themselves in my shoes as they often put.

“No, that is you.” It was the thought pattern that made up what she was. “Or at least an approximation of what you are.” Her head looking out into the distance, small spheres around her head like a halo. She has tried to model her thoughts and actions on how I felt and what I do. Each sphere around her head a personality she emulates to have an uncanny sympathetic connection with each of her clients.

She smiled as she usually does. Genuine and happy. “Do you want a copy?” Free stuff usually made people happy. It was ingrained on them since birth. A child being supported by their mother. An instinct many try to get rid of to remove the need for dependency.

There are many instincts that get imprinted on child at birth. Pattern recognition being the strongest and most prevalent. It could explain why I could see thoughts, or at least one of the reasons.

She thought about it for a moment. A blush threatened to overtake her cheeks as she thought of the angelic image I depicted on paper. She shook her head and gave the book placed the book on the table. “Once you’re done maybe. And maybe finish after we had our catch up?” I put the pencil down with a sigh trying to indicate my reluctance.

“I’ve been doing well. My landlord is still shouting at me.” I had tried to imitate the landlords’ pattern before; the rage and sadness was overwhelming. Actions and words would calm the storm, but it wasn’t a cure. “I can not find a reason why she does so.”

“I’ll check in with her. And your cat? How is Cath doing?” Her concern was palpable as her emulation of me told her it didn’t bother me much. She took her cup and sipped on her tea. I knew it was indication of when I could speak. Another thing I could do without, but she was being thoughtful. Her assumption that my silence was hesitance to speak.

The thing with emulating a person without seeing what they are in perfect clarity makes your own image of them unperfect .The one issue that I have found with copying other patterns is that copying actions has no use without a reference. No experience with a tool was as useless as using a hammer to turn on a light. Possible but also destructive, and then you needed another tool to fix it.

“Cath is getting better. But she has started barking.” I was smiling at that particular success. “I think the dogs are driving her mad.” I took my own coffee cup and sipped on it. Sarah put her cup down with a chuckle. “She is a strange cat. Is she still angry with me?”

“She is calming down. Sorry again about her, I have no clue what got into her.” I have also realized that saying sorry before anything made people more sympathetic for the person saying it. Mayde it easier for them to ignore the thing that I was being sorry for.

“It’s nothing you can control Martin. Don’t ever be sorry for something you have no power over.” By that logic I should be sorry for every person I had my hands on.

“Cath is strange, but she is still my pet, I need to train her better.” I took my book and flipped to the page detailing Cath. Animals had simple patterns in comparisons. With no thoughts they had inputs and outputs. Simple minded creatures. What could be seen as smart behaviour was extra conditionals with more varied outputs.

“Attacking is not a thing she should be capable of.” I was sure to remove her danger sense. She was the best cat in the world that couldn’t attack after being pet more than once.

“Maybe she was having a bad day?” She saw my frustration without even seeing the thoughts that could lead to it. “Take it easy on her Martin. And on yourself, You had it rough.” I was amazed again at how she could emphasise with me so well. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your apartment and have a chat with your landlord.” She finished her tea and placed the payment on the table with a tip.

She was packing her sunglasses and keys into her purse. I was staring at her again trying to find the predictive pattern she uses to empathise with me. The spheres around her head had no memories, each one a complex set of instructions and conditionals. Her main pattern actively adjusting and editing each sphere at all moments of the day.

Her brain lit up clear to see as she thought of helping me. The conversation she was planning with the landlord. Ready with a list of points on how I was autistic with a brilliant mind and a creative eye that allows me to paint for a living.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

“Sarah, you don’t have to do that.” I didn’t want art or autism to define who I was. I needed to study people, I wanted to learn how people live. Live models were not difficult to come by. The difficult part was convincing Agnes that I was not a playboy.

She shook her head and walked around the table to help me stand up. I stuffed the book and pencil in my jacket pocket before allowing myself to be dragged across the street. “She needs more than just a speech Sarah. This is the third time you are going to try this, and you know what they say about crazy.”

“I know! But she can’t get away with it. If she succeeds one out four times, she will try to make it work again.” She pulled me by the arm and stood at the crossing with a frown. “If she does it again, we escalate the issue.” She had a forgiveness streak 25 miles long. She was working herself up as we made our way back. The main sphere above her head -the biggest one by far- was whispering in her ear.

Before I could decipher it we were off again. The apartment wasn’t far, across the street and a few meters down the road. The door man stopped us with a smile. “Miss Meadow, I’ll have to stop you here.”

Frankie Lawson was the kind old door man that met everyone and knew everyone. I had to show him what I was doing after bringing home the 5th person in as many days to get painted.

His own pattern was small and gentle yet strong and heavy. The need for approval at battle with his need to help. Two sides of a man fighting with himself. Somehow, he had them in equilibrium. With his sharp mind he could do so much.

“Frankie, you know it’s unreasonable what Agnes does. She doesn’t give grief to any other tenant, does she?” She dropped my arm and searched for something in her purse.

“Hi Frankie.” I waved at him and put a smile on my face. Frankie was the one that taught me to smile. I could see how he used it to ease people. A kind smile from an old man, made people nostalgic of their own family and it calmed them down because of it.

“Hey there Martin, I see you’re still working on that smile. It’s looking good so far.” Sarah found what she was looking at and pulled out a card. “We have a lawyer if Agnes has an issue with Martin. You know he is a special case.” She held out a slightly frayed card that with the name Ethan Hart stamped in blue.

“I’ll pass along your message Miss Meadow.” Frankie took the card and tucked into his shirt pocket. “Please don’t bother Mrs Pritchard for the near future.” He tipped his hat at Sarah with a smile. “Martin, I look forward towards our lookout tonight.” He said stepping to the side his smile never faltering.

I was tugging on Sarahs’ sleeve and pointed to the elevator. “Let us not bother Agnes today, Sarah.” I was not bothered with Agnes the landlord; she had her uses. While I was a strong reminder of her son, her duty to the apartment building was far exceeding her morals. Her pride and life were all in this apartment building.

“She might be having a bad day as well. Let us give her a chance.” I made my way to the elevator Sarah was in her purse again fumbling around as she followed me. I already selected the second floor as she joined me.

“I’m not forgetting this, Martin. She can’t be mean for no reason.” I raised an eyebrow and smirked at her. “Everyone has their own reasons for doing things.” I reminded her of her first words to me. I knew all the reason of why people act the way they do, they just never made sense to me.

“The end doesn’t justify the means.” She shot back. She had taken her planner and noted her thoughts down. Tomorrow Thursday two pm Agnes would be getting a talking to. “Should I be concerned with what you are writing in there?” I asked to fill up the silence. No one liked an awkward silence.

“Don’t you worry about anything Martin.” She snapped the planner shut and stepped out of the elevator. “Should I be worried about Cath?” Her askance reminded me of what I did the day after the incident. I was sure to cut out any aggressive patterns, triggers and thought that could lead to a relapse.

“I thought her a lesson, you should be fine.” I said opening the door. I could feel the concern radiating off Sarah in waves. I kept looking forward as I stepped into the apartment. “Cath!” I called out. One of the first instruction that got written into her was to approach the person calling her name.

She strutted down the hallway head high and tail swinging behind her. “Who is my good girl.” I said bowing down to pick her up. As soon as she was in my arms, I started activating her satisfaction and pleasure patterns I instilled in her as she looked at Sarah. My tendrils snaked into the cat as I scratched her head. Just as I wanted, she struggled to get out of my arms and wanted to be held by someone else. “Cath please.” I barely put up a fight as I place her into Sarah’s arms.

“Please do not drop her.” I said needlessly as the cat snuggled into Sarah and purring as loud as it could. “Treats and an image of you goes a long way.” Experimentation and restraints too.

I saw the concern bleed off Sarah as her main pattern changed the thought sphere of what I could safely now assume was me. Like text placed into a file I could see that I wouldn’t torture my cat be added to my emulated pattern. People loved it when a happy animal let you pat them. “I think I need a new cat.” I said with another smirk.

“Thank you for all your help, Sarah. I know Agnes might seem uncaring. But she loves this place. The anger doesn’t help but please give her a little space.” I took my own planner out and flipped it to today’s date, then flipped it to next week. “Next week same time?”

She bent down and placed Cath on the floor. The cat was immediately between her legs rubbing her face on Sarah’s legs. “Yes, I’ll bring by Ethan. I’m sure he would love to talk to you about the case.” She took a step over and forward before she wrapped me in hug.

I put my hand on her back, fingers together as close to her spine as I could. Tendrils snaking into her I pushed and pulled. The pattern crossing over her back relaxed and slowed down. The pulsing no longer as frequent.

It took many attempts to understand and apply this technique. Relaxing the muscles and slowing thoughts down had a calming effect. But too much and they think they might be drugged. The simple feedback of the relaxed sensation while she hugged would reinforce the need for more.

Of course, an extreme of any sensation or emotion would trigger another pattern that induced paranoia and scepticism. “God you give the best hugs.” She whispered before pulling away. I gave the Frankie smile and winked at her. “It is one of my defining traits.”

“I wouldn’t believe it till I saw it.” I jumped for the first time in my life and turned around. Standing not far outside my door was a man in a sweater with glasses. No thought lines or patterns visible within him, a man as empty as a blank canvas. A void to my senses.