Ha-ha Jack, ha-haMature

Ha-ha Jack. Ha-ha.

I think everyone is special. Everyone has one thing they are great at. Some people are musical savants, some people can crunch numbers in an instant. Some people are really good at inventing meals.

I can move things with my mind.

Yep. Oh hey, forgot to introduce myself, I'm Jack. Yep. One of the most ordinary names there are. One of the most mundane, un-interesting, non-unique, non-attention grabbing names you can get. I know plenty of other Jacks. I heard there was a hitman that recently ran around with his sister killing people. His name was Jack. I hear he was good at what he did too.

But here I am. Boring, unexciting Jack that can lift a pen from across the room.

I hate my name.

I sorta hate myself too. Just a little bit. Well, I rather hate what I have done to people in the past particularly my father.

See, these powers don't come without repercussions. Newton's law applies here too. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

While I'm lifting that soda right there, the reality that surrounds both that soda and myself bends. I mean, you arn't really supposed to be able to move things without touching it. The kinetic energy has to come from somewhere. What I do is just... move it. Take it from something without there really being a reason as to why it was changed.

It's kinda cool actually, bending reality. If I keep my eyes open and watch the world around me, everything kinda swooshes together. Things sort of, bend into a vortex. I think that if I hold something up for too long, existence as we know it would just cease to exist.

I think reality is pretty strong, but I am really not interested in trying it.

You probably don't care much about this other than, "Hey cool dude! Can I see?!".

I really don't suggest it. See... the average person isn't supposed to see or experience such a change. I'm not so average, so I figure that's why I'm immune, but no one else I know of could withstand it.

I know my dad wasn't.

I figured out I had this... gift... when I was in the sixth grade. I'm sure everyone sits there and focuses on something real hard, trying to make it move without touching it. My friends were all doing it, screwing their faces up trying to move pens or rocks or what ever it was that was lying around. Mom always told me I've been smarted than everyone around me. A little too mature for my age. Sixth grade made no difference. I made fun of my friends, told them how silly they looked and didn't try it with them in the same place. As you all probably guessed, I ran straight home to try it for myself. I wanted to prove that you couldn't do it without embarrassing myself in front of my peers.

So I focused on my guinea pig. The little bugger didn't move. So I focused harder. Still nothing. So I thought about it a bit. How could I get it to move, and why would it move if I did it? I relaxed. I had to realize it was moving, to simply accept that that was what it was doing. It didn't work. How dumb. Frustrated as I was, I got angry. One last try.

I can't explain what happened, why it happened, or how I simply knew to do it. Just like you move your arm, flick your finger, blink your eyes, I moved it. It wasn't a conscious thought, it just was so natural, like I had been doing it all my life. My guinea pig was there, wriggling about, squeaking really hard, floating in it's cage.

For my first try at this, I didn't take the effects of altering reality very well. As things melded together, everything swirling about, and a nauseous feeling in my stomach came to be, I fell over and fainted.

I woke up in an emergency room with doctors poking and prodding me. My parents were there, and when they saw me awake, relief just washed over them. I tried to tell the doctors what happened, but they just didn't understand. They thought I had a mental episode of some sort... and I got an MRI. It was clean and they sent me home days later. (There were a lot of tests, but since I didn't show symptoms anymore nothing could be done.)

When we were at home, I confronted my father. You never forget the most traumatic experiences of your life.

"Dad. I really did move Mr. Bubbles."

"Jack... Are you okay?"

"Dad... Just... Watch this." and I looked around the room for something to move. This time I was prepared for the 'swooshing'. I tried everything again, nothing moved. Dad was getting impatient when I remembered what happened. Just move it. Don't think about it, just move it. So I did. The pen on his desk. I lifted it into the air, the swooshing started. I threw it at the book shelf, the swooshing got tighter. I fell to my knees in a sweat, and my father was laughing. He was uncontrollable. Then he started screaming. There were voices or something in his head, he tried to tell them to stop talking so loud. He was scared. My mother came into the room as he was clawing at his face, crying and screaming about the things he was seeing, the things the people were telling him to do. It was my fault. I was backed into a corner as he beat my mother. He punched her, he kicked her, he strangled her.

I couldn't take it, he couldn't hurt Mom like that. I ran up behind him, i with the same pen I had moved earlier, and stabbed him in back. a sixth grader can't really do much, let alone drive a pen through a grown man's back. He howled in pain, whipped around, and looked about to hit me like he did her. When he stopped. He stared at me. The silence was deafening, and I almost longed for him to scream again.

And he started muttering. He stared deep into my eyes, and muttered such obscene, horrid things that I started to cry. Keeping eye contact at all times, he walked around his desk. He opened his drawer. He reached to the bottom of it and pulled out a gun. He put the gun to his temple. His last words before he shot himself were this.

"Ha-ha Jack, ha-ha"

Like I said. You never forget the most traumatic experiences you witness.

The next few months seemed to go by in a blur. My mother survived, though I don't understand how. I was exempt from school. I got a personal therapist. And I started wetting the bed again. The last part I'm not proud of, but you try sleeping through your worst nightmare night after night, trying to sleep with your mommy and being confronted with a scarred and torn face that you know you caused.

That was years ago, and I'm a senior in high school now. I'm in love with my absolute best friend, I figured out how my skill works, and if you couldn't tell, I'm kind of a big science geek.

Ha-ha Jack, ha-ha.

The End

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