Could a brain injury unlock an unknown talent? A look at the phenomenon of the “acquired savant”:
It sounds like science fiction. But the reality may be even more outlandish. Now that scientists understand how savant syndrome occurs, new research is turning to the underlying origins of the special abilities themselves. Most of it remains a mystery – a loose collection of questions more than anything resembling answers. For example, how is it that somebody like Derek Amato, who’d never demonstrated any musical talent before hitting his head at the bottom of a pool, could suddenly handle jazz and classical pieces of astounding complexity without training? How is it that someone can suffer a stroke and wake up later only to discover that their English is tinged with a foreign accent?
Almost three weeks ago, I told you all about my desperate need to replace my favorite hoodie. But by the time you heard about it, I’d already spent six weeks searching endlessly. Last weekend, my patience was rewarded.
Hoodie acquired, with no cash wasted on shipping and handling.
“Goddamn it!” T8 flinched back, the edges of his eyes tight. Chest already hurt, a sharp fright clenching down. Got worse when Superior turned to him, face so twisted up and furious, “The hell are you doing here? Fucking idiot!” His hand jerked out, like pain, like punishment, and T8 couldn’t help but move away, reflex taking over even though he knew better.
Superior wasn’t pleased, was always angry so often now, and didn’t even try again, just reached for the button on his watch, and a moment later T8 went keening to his knees, electric fire fizzing out from the collar beneath his mask, burning through his blood, spearing his bones, the world made into white hot agony and despair.
The prisoner was in back, locked in a holding cell that was almost familiar, though T8 hated the feeling. It skimmed up his arms and flared darkness in his mind, behind the heavy ache of punishment and hunger.
Wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, what order he hadn’t followed correctly.
Was almost sure there wasn’t one, that…that Superior must have been mistaken.
Knew better than to say that, to even think it for a moment. Superior would know. Wouldn’t let T8 rest then, or shower, or eat. Wouldn’t even let him have any water, if Superior knew that T8 ever had such thoughts.
T8 pulled at the side of his collar as he opened the door, breathing still so difficult, like it was every time he was punished. He stepped in, pausing a stride from where the prisoner was against the wall, wrists held before him in the clasp of a metal sleeve, a cuff chaining one foot to the back wall.
T8 looked away from the chain, didn’t even look up from the floor, just crouched and extended an opened can that the personnel had told him to give the prisoner. There was liquid inside, what T8 knew to be a ration, substance, a treasure that T8 never got, no matter how good he tried to be.
honestly the thing that bothers me most about blarke isn’t the ship itself. it’s the way the shippers (not all, but enough) act like bellamy deservesclarke. “he’s done so much for her”… ok and? clarke isn’t a fucking trophy. she’s not a prize bellamy wins just for being a decent human being so please stop treating her like one