Imaginations are horrid.
I’ve got a hyper-sensitive hearing, and it doesn’t help when every story I hear, my mind forms into vivid moving images.
You’re telling me about the mysterious whispering winds at your curtains.
You’re recounting the day when you fell and broke your wrist.
You’re conveying the tale about how the pillars cracked and the structure nearly impaling you.
I’m terrified by these descriptives; I no longer dare to see the dentist; or face the winds by the windows; or even switch on the TV to hear the news.
These monsters are running wild; and they are scary. I can hear their feet running across the keyboard now. Type, type, type …