Recessive (Chapter 2)

CHAPTER TWO

My eyes land on the bathroom straight ahead. My eyelids flutter. I stumble on my first step to the bathroom. The explosion of aching nerves collapses my knees. I try to save myself from the fall. I try to grab onto the wall but nothing presented itself.

"Dude." Logan grasps my shoulder.

Everything I felt disappears.

My mind has tricked me again.

"You okay?" He continues, assisting me to stand.

"I'm fine." I say.

"Are you sure? You looked like you were gonna die."

"I'm fine!" A tint of recognizable rage gets away. "Let's head to class."

We got to our lockers with short time left before the bell rings. Logan tells me how to get to my next class and leaves.

Just like that, I'm alone. I seem the only one in the corridor. I shove everything that I need into my bag and hurry down the way Logan told me. A feeling comes to my head. I slow down a bit to clarify what my instinct suggests.

The sound of another pair of shoes taking steps echoes behind me.

I turn but no one stands there. I'm still the only person in the hallway. My mind stages another illusion again. I know it so I calm myself and begin a slow pace.

Clump... Clump... Clump...

I sustain my pace. After a few seconds, I run.

I run as fast as I can.

The comfort room lies just up ahead. I know this is an illusion. I need to get away from it. I hope someone's in the bathroom.

No one's there. I kick open every cubicle. No one's inside. I look at myself through the mirror. I seem too worn out. I make a bowl with my hands and place it over the pouring tap water. I move my face closer and wash it. My anxiousness clings to the water and goes down the sink with it. I place my bowled hands under the tap again. The water fills my hands. I'm about to wash my face again but I hear a movement near the door. Impulse takes over. I throw the water to it.

The water hits something; something on the floor; something near the door. I can make out a whole arm and half of a man's chest formed by the water in mid-air. A crude taste envelopes my tongue. Fear. The water starts boiling. Evaporating. The temperature rises and comes back to normal as quickly. Just like that, I can't see him again yet I know he's still here. I know. I can feel him.

I can't run. The guy blocks the doorway. What the hell! He's just an illusion. A character drawn by my mind. I start charging. I didn't expect to hit him. I didn't expect to feel his body. I didn't expect to bump into it. I can tell that he's a teenager. I stumble back. I feel like I just tried to run through a wall.

"You're real." The words shiver out.

I flip around and crawl away from him 'til there's no space left; 'til my head hits the wall. The adrenaline leaves me panting. I grab the plunger at my side as I turn to him. I know he's there, by the door, so I aim the rubber cup of the plunger at it. The problem? I can't seem to find the door. I ask the mirror. It says the door's right next to me. I grope for the knob, throw the plunger into the bathroom and dash out.

I run to my next class and I didn't bother to check if he's chasing me.

I got in class minutes late. My history teacher, Mr Hale, doesn't look that old. Especially with his strawberry blond hair made to look like a flame. I tell him that I got lost on the way. He ignores it because it's my first day in a huge school and students really tend to get lost in finding the room. I take the only available seat next to a girl with cute brown eyes. Diana.

I feel a bit awkward. Diana flashes me a smile every sixty seconds. She spends the sixty seconds texting. I wonder what the last text said. She keeps her phone after sending it.

My last class happens in the adjacent room. I didn't have to look but I feel throbs in my head. The lights seem to fluctuate. The ground unsteadies me with a capricious quake. I see the comfort room and tumble to it.

I don't care what happened to me in this place. I don't care if that guy is still in here. I just need to hide and no one else seems to be inside. I stand before the mirror, the sink acting as my cane. I watch myself. The mirror shows a clear reflection. The veins on my face start to show. They climb up like lightning. Now, all of my veins show. All of my veins. On every part of my body. The veins stop. No playing lights. No shaking ground. Relief makes me close my eyes.

My bowled hands gather tap water. I bring the water to my face. I just keep on doing it. The water pushes me to relief, it seems. When I open my eyes, my image comes blurry from the glass. I can't understand. What happened? Where did this moisture come from? I reach for the faucet but I accidentally touch the water. Vapour comes rising from the sink, making me look down. I stare at my hand. It turns liquid to gas. I turn the faucet. The water stops.

Is this another trick of my mind?

I try to feel for the slightest drop of water in my hair. Nothing. I make a move to remove the moisture from the mirror. But as my hand approaches the glass, the moisture disappears. I'm not even touching the mirror yet. I hold my hand out, an inch away from the mirror. I just start to move it around.

I can see my reflection again.

The veins have affected my eyes. They come bloodshot from the mirror. Something in my eyes compels me to look closely. The red lines. They move. The red lines move like worms as they all direct themselves to my pupils.

Zap!

Both of my eyes flash. The whole eyeball emits a bright light. Lights reminded me how a camera flashes. They were sudden. They were fast. They were gone in a second. They flabbergast me. Surprise causes me to take a step back. Something topples me. I fall to the floor.

Crack!

Lights out

The school bell rings me conscious.

I've been here for an hour, more or less. Logan must be waiting for me. I'm fine, considering I just shattered the floor with my head. The plunger I threw earlier toppled me. I'm fine. I'm running before I know it. I run not because I'm fine. I run because I feel like pain chases me. The closer it gets; The more I feel it. Like expected, Logan stands by his locker waiting for me.

"Dude, where have you been? I feel like an idiot waiting here." He grumps.

I try to open my locker but I can't enter my combination.  I keep seeing doubles.

"Let me do that." He irritates.

"I just can't see things straight, right now." I excuse.

"God, man! How'd you heat your lock like this?" He says after touching the metal dial on my lock. "It feels like you just lit it up on flames."

Heat won't stop Logan. He gets his handkerchief out, covers the dial with it before turning to the combination. He gets my locker open. I can feel the pain returning.

"We should get going." I say shoving my bag into my locker.

"We should go to the cafon the corner of Third Street. Everyone goes there after class." He suggests.

"Maybe next time. I'm not feeling that good."

"Just swear we'll go there this week."

"Swear."

We start going to our bikes in the parking lot. I feel worse than before. My head pulses with the havoc of war. Grenades sequentially detonate in the form of suicidal neurons. A new sensation charges my consciousness. My veins start to pump knives. I feel the blood slitting my skin as they course. My blood skins me. I see a drinking fountain and move for it.

"Mikee, what are you doing?" Logan asks.

"Can't you see all the veins?" I ask washing my face with sub-zero water from the fountain.

"Dude, that's freezing cold water!" He warns.

I look at him. I'm relieved with my face drenched in water. "Can't you see the veins?" I ask again. I don't have to worry about being wet for long. The water evaporates quickly.

"What veins? What are you talking about? What the hell is happening?"

"I'll explain on the way home." I just reply, brisk walking to the parking lot.

I thought my middle school bully has grown up. He didn't bother me all day. But my chain-less bike takes me back to middle school.

A car whizzes by. The guy sitting next to the driver has his hand out the window. My bike's chain hangs from his hand. The side mirror shows me the devilish grin of the guy. Daniel Hattele's bullying starts again. I guess it never stopped.

Payback doesn't fit me at the moment but it will. Just not now. Maybe tomorrow after I've slept the pain away. Maybe after I can figure a way to get home, alive.

"Well, there goes your ride." Logan says.

"And, I think I'm gonna walk." I add.

"You can take my bike if you want."

"No thanks. I'm afraid I'll melt the handle."

I can walk the half-mile to my dad's house. But I'm in doubt of asking him for a ride. We haven't talked since the divorce. We haven't talked for five years.

Logan rides his bike. I just brought mine to get it fixed at home and to have a cane whenever my knees buckle. The piercing sensation goes back a few minutes after we left the school. The skinning sensation retaliates seconds later. I brace myself for more. A lot has come but I remember very few of them. The air around me dries. The water in the air can't take the heat my body unleashes. Trying to take my mind of the chaos in my body, I talk to Logan. I tell him everything. Even the odd ones. He just listens all through.





I stand before the house. Dad's house. My dad works on something in the garage. The left and the right hemispheres of my brain quarrel over this plan. I slip into doubt. Angers comes before pain. I become willing to walk the last mile home.

"Mike, what are you doing here? Need a ride home? Or just water?" My father greets approaching just as I was leaving.

It disturbs me that he knows but Logan wasn't moved. He answers "Actually, he does need both."

"How'd you know what I needed?" I ask.

"You look exhausted. You're welcome to sit inside if you want." Dad just says going inside.

"Hitch the ride." Logan says. "You need it."

"You should come with." I invite sitting on the porch.

"You know I can't."

He takes off without another word. I remember now. His phobia. It's the reason why we don't take the school bus. His phobia. The one he got when he was in a car accident with his father. Only Logan survived.

My dad holds out the glass of water. Moisture covers the glass. I take it and my father goes back inside.

The moisture evaporates before I even touch it. I drink some of the water before it could turn to vapour. The water is cool enough to give me a minute of relief.

It feels different. The relief. It burns in my mouth.

Not bad burn, it feels good. Soothing. The water seems to heat up. I feel it going down my throat. The heat extinguishes the fire that has seemingly manifested inside.

"Is it okay if I run some errands for your grandfather first? He'd kill me if I won't do it." My father says coming out.

"Unless it ruins my plans of sitting at the back, sure." I respond.

"You can leave your bike here. I'll fix it. You can just pick it up tomorrow when you pass by."

I just remembered. He's the town's mechanic.

"Thanks, I needed the help. The house got a bit short on tools when you left." I say. "So... what kind of errands are you running?" I ask, heading for the car.

He answers but I don't really care. I just ask so I don't have to drift into sleep listening to the engine's strange humming. I make the effort to look at the digital watch in front. It's 3:30 PM. I can still be at home by 4:30 PM even if Dad has some errands to do. I look up straight under the car's roof and drift into a sleep. It feels like I only slept for a second when the awkward silence wakes me. The car has stopped. But the sound of my father's voice really got me up.

"Here we part, kiddo" He says.

I sit up. Two things bother me. First, my head senses no pain. I touch the glass. No moisture gets formed outside. I can't feel my nerves burning any more. It seems the sleep sent the pain to another planet.

Do you know the feeling when you forget something and you know you're forgetting it? Forgetting something yet remembering it. It bugs me. But the overflowing joy of knowing I won't die today, wins over my mind.

"I would've invited you for dinner. But I realized it would be awkward for a woman to have her ex-husband at dinner. Especially, after what you did to her. Leaving her for a twenty year old girl who left you a month after the divorce." I say, the ungrateful child as I am..

"Good to know." He replies. The discomfort shows.

I glance at the clock. It's already 5:30 PM. What kind of errand takes two hours to be done? I didn't notice it before when I look through the window. It's tinted so a slight difference separates day from night.

"I got your bike fixed while you were asleep." He points at the back. "Take it when you hop out."

I head back, untying my bike.

I notice something odd.

I tap the window, gesturing for my Dad to give me light, which he did. I raise my hand for the light to see. All the veins, gone. I use my other hand to feel it, making sure my eyes aren't playing tricks with me. It isn't. I place my hand above my chest. I can feel my heart beating. It beats below my sternum.

I get my bike and take the short trip to our front door. I can hear from my back that the car advances.

My body turns around. Like a reflex has taken control. I'm facing the road. I look down to my hands to see a ring box wrapped in blue. I try to look for the person who threw it. My eyes feast on my father driving away, his hand outside the window waving me goodbye. Entering my house, I slip the box into my pocket.

The smell of freshly cooked food hovers before my nose. My Mom watches the news in the living room. She always does it after work. Seeing that I've arrived, she goes to the kitchen and sets the dining table for eating.

Right now, the meal suggests depression.

Neither of us speaks. Maybe preoccupied by the food. But we just don't have anything to talk about.

Mom breaks the silence asking "Why are you late?"

"Some jerk cut the chain of my bike. I had to ask Dad for a ride. And he did some errands." I answer, leaving the bad parts out.

The conversation came too late. I finished eating so I head to my room.

The clock strikes 6 PM. The room greets me the same way it said goodbye, except for the shattered hole in the middle of my window. A remote-controlled toy airplane lies in the middle of broken glass on my floor. I pick the plane up and hold it with both hands. I sit at my bed. Now, the plane's nose points to the window. My mind flashes me good memories with toy planes. My Dad and I played with things like this at the park.

This idea of the plane having rockets at its tail and flying faster than any jet can, pops in my head. I imagine a computer simulation announcing Blast Off! and the plane would go soaring through the horizon, circling the globe in a day. Well, the plane did soar. It blasts off soaring through the horizon. I just don't know if it'll circle the globe in a day.

"Great. Now I have two holes in my window." The words come out casual. Somehow, I don't feel a twinge of horror. Like this is normal.

Mom won't hear the entire racket with the TV booming its speakers out. How can I fix this window without mom knowing? A barrage of questions will hit me the moment she discovers.

"Well, it would be good if the window would fix itself, wouldn't it?" I say evidently losing my head.

I don't know what I'd expect. But it happens. The shards of glass on the floor, even the ones outside, start to rise and go back to the hole. I can't believe that it did what I will it to. I go closer to the glass and tap it, just to make sure that it's fixed. Apparently, it is.

I run my hands through my pocket as I sit on my bed. A bump makes my hand stop. The ring box. I take it out.

It contains a folded piece of paper and a sphere-shaped stone. The stone feels warm. How it became warm, I have no idea. The piece of paper, on the other hand, has a message written on it in cursive from Dad saying I should take care of the stone.

I'm not going to take orders from him. What makes this stone important, anyway? Why should I guard it? I return the stone to the box. I decide to crumple the paper and throw it away. I place the stone back in the box and keep it on my nightstand drawer.

The exhaustion has finally caught up with me. I just woke up 30 minutes ago but the nap seems useless. To help me sleep my mind reminds me the pain, remembering it results to a yawn.

I take my earphones, and play some playful music. When I close my eyes, all I can see is a girl's face. Crystal's. Every thought brings me to her. I tried not to think of her but I'm just fooling myself. If I could, I want to see her.

I want to see her now.





The dream begins.

I'm in a room, just like mine but it has a dash of girl added to its flavour. I can still hear the music playing from a distance. I look around to find a study table filled with books and other stuff. On the corner of the table stands a picture frame with the photo of Crystal and a lady, her mother maybe. I turn one more time and look around the room. Pictures of Crystal and some other relatives fill the walls. I come closer to them and marvel at one that has a shot of Crystal alone. I hear distant footsteps outside the door. I turn, in time to see Crystal who evidently just took a shower. She only has a towel on.

I start to muster an excuse but my mind doesn't have any suggestions. Good thing I don't have to explain. As far as I can tell, she can't see me. But I still turn around when she drops the towel to dress.

I watch her as she chat with her friends online. I can't create real damage by tolerating this fantasy. Crystal's friends consist actually of Diana, from history class, and Angela, a girl I go to middle school with. Crazy fact, the girl waving in the cafeteria is actually Crystal and that wave was actually for me.

They talk about me. Diana, as she said, was ratting about me during history class. She was texting Crystal, telling her how cute I am. But thanks to Angela, Crystal thinks I'm gay and the only way to negate that is to ask Crystal out on a date.

Why would I be so affected of these things? This is just a dream. A really horrible one. With the music still playing in the distance, I hurry off outside. I don't have to open the door because, as expected, I can pass through it. Like a ghost walking through walls.

I wander through town heading home. Passing by familiar places in the west side of town. Eventually, I come to pass by the school. It looks very creepy at the night. A mile-hike later, my Dad's house comes into view. One of the rooms flashes light through its windows. I keep on walking. Reaching the front of their house bathes me with chills. I look at the source of light to find my grandfather. He stares directly at me. Creepy blue eyes he gave my father taking effect. Even the playful music I keep hearing the whole dream doesn't even provide shelter to the horrible stare. I just sprint away. I reach my house. It blends in with the dark scenery.

I go to my room. I watch myself sleep, earphones still sticking out of my ears. I try to remove them but my hands just pass through it. I focus on touching something. I try it again. I didn't think it will work but it did. I pinch either of them with either hand and yank them away. The music I'm hearing before goes away with the earphones.

Midnight. I got nothing else to do but pace around my room, thinking about how am I going to survive high school without humiliating myself that much. I take a clean piece of paper. I grab a pencil and sit near the window. The moonlight showers the paper with argentine brilliance.

The moon guides the curves I start to draw. From that point, I know for sure this is a dream. I can't draw. I'm picturing Crystal in my head. My hand creates the curves I memorized from her face this morning. An hour past and then two. It takes my hands the rest of the night to finish the sketch. A sketch of a beautiful girl. Made with my hands. I sign it on the lower right corner of the paper, place it on my table just above the stack of drawers. I don't even have the time to be in awe staring at it. Daylight breaks the invading darkness.

But before I wake, I hear groaning. The ones you hear when someone's in pain. I can hear trashing. I feel my whole body contracting and my consciousness expanding at the same time. My eyes snap open. I'm in my room. I sit up. My whole body bathes with sweat. I remember every part of my dream in such freakish clarity I think it really did happen.

No time to freak out.

I hop out the bed and jump into the showers. I look for clothes to wear. I reach for my shoes. They float to my outstretched hand. I put them on but I didn't lace them. I'd like to try something. I back away from my feet and imagine the lace tying themselves. It worked. I start for the door and pass through the mirror on the way. I get a glimpse of my hair pointing in all directions. They aren't supposed to be like that. I raise my hand to fix it but my hair starts to go the way they are supposed to. I'm acting like all these things happen every day.

I hold the knob but then I remember my wallet on the top drawer of my table. I think if I'll imagine opening the drawer it'll fly across the room and cause noise so I pace to it. But on top of my table, just above the drawer, lies the sketch I drew in my dream. It's exactly just like how I dreamt of it. I roll it like a scroll. I don't want it to be damaged by fold marks. I take my wallet and get out of the room.

I can hear whispers in my head.

I can't quite understand what they say. The voices don't speak to me but I hear them. I sprint to the kitchen, grab a sandwich, take a bite and run to the door. When I get out of the house, I see Logan riding his bike toward me, yards and yards away. I can hear him saying things yet his mouth doesn't even twitch. I shout for him and bolt to his side. I stand at his side before he even looks. He flinches and falls from the bike.

Dude, how'd you get here? I hear Logan's voice in my head.

"Du--" He starts.

"I run." I reply even though he doesn't finish.

Dude, you can't run that fast. I hear in my head again, as he stands.

"Du--" He starts again.

"I know."

Can you stop doing that? It's creeping me out.

"Ca--"

"Apparently not. I can hear what you're going to say before you say it."

He squints. Repeat after me, okay.

I can hear him. Why can't he hear me? So in my thoughts, I try to reach his mind saying. Why should I?

Did you just speak in my mind?

Did you just hear me in your head?

Would you care to explain?

I'll explain on the way. I shrug.

Fine, get your bike.

I look at my bike and will it to float to me. It obeyed. I turn to Logan who looks at me in both horror and awe. But I just answer with a shrug.

I tell him all about it, even the dream. I can hear every thought by every person we encounter in the street. I can understand them as clear as talking to them now. I start hearing thoughts from birds and other living beings. Somehow, I don't take it as freaky. I catch it enticing. I start to hear the thoughts of people inside their houses. When we pass my Dad's house, I don't hear a single squeak like something blocks my consciousness from entering the house. It just adds to the mysteries of that place.

How did you know that it really happened again? Logan asks.

I will our bikes to stop in the middle of the road and give Logan the sketch that I'm holding the whole ride. He looks at it in disbelief and says you did this?

I'm a hundred percent sure.

He just gives it back. We ride the rest of the trip in silence. I listen to every thought I hear the whole time. An awkward silence at my side balances the sensation.

"How can you do that?" I ask Logan. But he's deep within his thoughts to hear me. I imagine nudging him a little and he tips a bit. He falls again.

"How can you do that?" I ask again, coming back to him.

"Do what?" He asks back.

"I can't hear your thoughts anymore."

"Maybe it's because I don't want you to hear them."

"But how can you do it?" I ask offering my hand.

"I have no idea, dude." He reaches for it.

I felt a surge from his touch. Like a static electric shock. From his yelp, I can tell he felt it too.

"The hell!" He expresses, looking at the hand he used to reach out, the right one.

"What?" I ask.

"Look." He presents his palm.

"There's nothing in it."

"What?" He looks to check.

"Maybe you just hit your head or something."





When we got through the double doors of the school, I grimace from the uproarious chatter that I hear both in my head and through my ears. I try to focus on my own thoughts, blocking everyone else. But I can't find my own thoughts. They seem to camouflage with every other thought. To find myself, I induce a sensation that no one else has at the moment. Pain. I grab my left hand with my right hand and crush every single bone in it. I'm able to focus on myself. I refrain from listening to everyone's thoughts.

We stop by our locker first. I yank my bag out, grabbing books I need.

I hope you heal quickly. I thought looking down to my deformed left hand.

The bones pop back to their rightful place.

I just shrug off what just happened. Instant healing might be one of my new abilities. I pick out a book from my bag. I choose the one that won't wrinkle my sketch when I slip it in between pages.

We wait for Ms Trysmechi in the lab. No seat appears empty. Nothing worries anyone.

"Get your books and turn it to page 143." Ms Trysmechi greets as she enters.

Crystal seems bothered. I listen to her thoughts but that meant listening to the whole class's thoughts as well. I guess it's the price I'll pay.

"Forgot your book?" I ask even though I knew the answer.

She nods.

"We can share mine." I reply getting my book.

"Have I introduced myself?" She asks but her voice echoes. I hear the words in my mind before I hear them through my ears.

"Not yet. But there's no need. You're popular."

Even though, we do the "I'm blah blah but you can call me blah blah" routine and shake each other's hand.

I will my hands not to get sweaty the whole time. It works so I don't have to be shy shaking her hand. I close my mind again, disabling my ability to hear others thought. Somehow, I'm able to do it without self-inflicted pain. I'm afraid I'll send some mental message to everyone around me, including Crystal, on how I feel toward her.

"What page is it again?" She says taking the book.

"143. Page 143" I answer.

She flips the book looking for the page when a paper pops out. My eyes widens at the sight of my sketch. Too late to take it back. She has it in her grasp. My heart somersaults as she stares at it, observing it.

Unbelievably, she asks for it. She likes it so I give it to her. I could probably make another one.

We proceed in silence, listening to Ms Trysmechi's discussion when I feel something odd happening in the back of my mind. I feel like someone pries on my thoughts, trying to dig up a memory. The foreign consciousness slowly invades my mind but whoever is doing this isn't careful enough. I manage to trace where he is. I'm careful enough. He doesn't sense me. I try to see through his eyes, determine where he is. I'm able to do so. His eyes point directly at me.

It takes all of my will not to look at the window. The point of view gazes only a few inches away from the window. Base from Crystal's reaction, the man is nowhere to be seen. He's invisible. Perhaps the same guy in the bathroom yesterday. I grab hold of every neuron on his brain and start crushing them one by one. I watch the lawn. Shoes mark the ground as the grass bends to carry the weight they can no longer bear. The shoe marks back away. A big human sized shape falls down to the ground. He's dead. Good. I'll no longer watch out for frequent prying on my mind.





Hours pass by like seconds. In no time, I catch myself walking alone toward my locker after my last period. I stop in mid-stride when I saw Logan bullied by three football players a few steps away. Students are all around them, watching my best friend get beaten.

Mikee, don't help. I can do this on my own. Logan says after seeing me.

My eyes drift a few paces to his left and find Ronnie watching with the rest of the crowd. Logan has bruises all over. His nose, already broken and bleeding. One of the jocks throws another punch. My mind starts suggesting things. I take control of Logan's hands to perform a self-defence move. I add some strength to his muscles. This would hurt big time. The jock is out cold. The other tries a bear hug but I stick Logan's knee to the guy's face, hard to make him collapse. The last guy throws a right hook. I block with Logan's right hand, throwing a punch to the guy's stomach, making him double over. The guy just scrams away. Everyone watches in awe as Logan kicked three jock asses at the same time.

Dude, thank you for helping. He thought.

I walk over to the semi-circle; the students made watching the racket. I start to fend them away. They go after taking in the incident. I lock my mind so I won't hear their side comments. Ronnie comes close.

"Hey, you okay?" she says nudging Logie.

"I'm fine" Logie musters.

"Good. I don't want to be alone during first period." She says walking away.

I walk over to Logan and say "I think I can heal those."

"Really?" he asks in disbelief.

"I think so." I concentrate and imagine Logan's bruises healing."Done"

He runs to the nearest mirror and gasps at the sight of his healed face.

Cool, dude. He thought.

I'm shoving things into my locker when Logan says  I can feel it as you control me.

Seriously? I say still shoving some books to my locker.

Yeah. It's like my body had a mind of its own.

As I take the last book out, something comes out and falls to the floor. I pick up the box that held the spherical stone that made Logan's forehead form creases. I get the stone out and it still feels warm. I think it even got warmer than before.

What's that? He asks.

Something that my father gave me. I reply locking my locker. I left it at home actually.

I left my bag at school yesterday. It didn't come home with me last night. So how did this box get here?

I go to the nearest exit making way to the forest. I have the stone in my palm, willing it to fling. I will it to shoot like a bullet and go as far as it can. But it didn't. It stays on my palm. Have I lost the ability to move things with my mind?

I will my shoelaces to untie. They did.

I will them to tie themselves. They did.

I will the stone to fly. It didn't.

Frustrated, I throw it myself. Now, no one can find it deep in the forest.

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