Telekinetic Kelly

Kelly Green raised the red flag on her mailbox all the way from the kitchen. She didn’t even have to look out the window this time. She accomplished the feat while sitting at the table eating instant oatmeal. 

The oatmeal was hot and she liked it thick. It was flavored with brown sugar and maple syrup. She ate it with a bent spoon. 

She had bent the spoon with the power of her mind. 

Bending metal with her thoughts gave her a weird sense of pleasure. Like a mild orgasm rising inside her. An ecstatic release lurking around an indefinite corner. 

All her silverware was now curvy and warped. She would bend the utensils straight later and experience the pleasure all over again. 

She wondered if Uri Geller felt the same way when he did his thing. 

She ate her oatmeal in silence. She usually had the radio playing but she’d lost power in her apartment right after she’d fixed breakfast. She’d made it just in time.

On a napkin next to the oatmeal sat two pieces of whole grain toast smothered in Smucker’s grape jelly and next to that was a cup of strong Colombian coffee.

Caffeine helped her focus her telekinesis. It increased her ability to lift things and move them about like a sorcerer. Like Mickey Mouse moving buckets and brooms in Fantasia. She could command incredible energy. She felt sure she was gaining divine powers. Like Thor. Or Samantha Stevens on Bewitched.

If only her ex could see her now.

James had walked out on her seven months ago. They’d lived together a year and a half and now he was gone. The loss of his income and household help had brought hard times upon her. She still had her shitty gig waitressing at Clemon’s Restaurant but her meager tips barely paid the bills. She was both broke and exhausted. Thank goodness her telekinesis had emerged to help her with chores. 

Her magic was not demonic. But it was spiritual. She was convinced. 

When she finished her oatmeal she moved into the living room while the empty bowl floated into the sink. She tried to turn on the faucet to soak the bowl but some tasks were still too complicated to accomplish with mere thoughts. 

But she was confident she’d get there eventually. Her power increased little by little. Gains everyday. Heavier objects were still hard to move. She’d lifted a thick, hardcover dictionary yesterday—about six inches off the desk—so that was pretty cool. She held it aloft for around ten seconds and then it broke away and slammed back to the table and she had a splitting headache for the rest of the day.

But she was still getting stronger. No pain, no gain they say. She truly believed that. It was her personal credo now.

She hadn’t heard from James in three months, two weeks and a day. He had changed his phone number. He had deleted his social media accounts. His folks didn’t answer her calls anymore. His work refused to connect her to his desk.

There was even talk of a restraining order.

What a little prick. She should have known he was a prick when she first met him. He insisted on being called “James” and got annoyed when anyone tried to call him “Jim” or, god forbid, “Jimmy.”

Little prick. Sometimes she called him “Jamie-Baby” just to piss him off. 

Now she was working on a way to make his head explode from forty-five miles away. She got the idea from a movie called Scanners. A movie about people like her. People with a divine gift. With the mental strength to rupture reality. Countermand the laws of physics. 

Make heads explode.

She pictured it: He’d be working in his cubicle at Paulson Diagnostics and then BOOM! (or SPLAT! or whatever sound an exploding head made), he’d be reduced to a soggy red mess all over his desk. 

They’d never connect his decapitated condition to her. Her alibi would be Tupperware tight.

I was at work all day, she’d calmly say. And that would be totally TRUE. There would be witnesses to attest to that fact. CCTV footage would exist of her busting her hump between tables at Clemon’s. Her timecard would verify her whereabouts on the day James’s brains went KABLOOEY! 

A sudden knock on her door snapped her out of her blissful reverie. 

She turned the doorknob three seconds before she reached it. Mrs. Fitz, her landlady, greeted her from the other side of the threshold. 

“Hi Kelly, dear,” Mrs. Fitz said in her wobbly voice. “Sorry to bother you so early.” 

Mrs. Fitz was in her late 80s and owned the three one-bedroom apartments that sat as an annex at the back of her house. 

“Hi Grace. What’s up?” 

Kelly’s rent was three days late but thankfully that wasn’t what the surprise visit was about. 

“Yes, well, I just wanted to tell you about the power outage.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I already noticed it.” Kelly furtively levitated a small chunk of speckled granite from the ground behind the old woman until it floated five inches above her head.  

“Yes, well, I called the electric company and they say it’s localized to my property. The rest of the town is still up and running.”

“That’s weird.” The rock rotated slowly in the air. Kelly resisted the urge to cut her concentration and let it drop on Mrs. Fitz’s gray trembling head. 

“Yes, well, they’re sending someone out to address the problem but it may take several hours. They also might need access to the apartments. Are you going to be home all day?”

“Yes. I am.” It was her one weekly day off. She forced the rock up another three inches or so, watching it turn like a miniature planetoid over the oblivious old woman.

“So you can let the electrician inside if need be?”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll be here.” 

“Oh good. Thank you Kelly.” 

“No problem.”

As the old woman turned away and shuffled toward the next apartment, Kelly let the rock drop. It landed harmlessly in the dirt. Mrs. Fitz turned when she heard the thump behind her and, noticing nothing, continued on her way.

Kelly giggled. Old biddy didn’t know how close she came to a scalp laceration. She wondered if she could have stoned the ancient lady to death. There were plenty of rocks around. She giggled again at this delicious idea.

Then she went back inside.

Kelly wished she could wield her witchcraft at work. She imagined the look on the patron’s faces when their burgers and fries and bottles of beer sailed to their table untouched by human hands. Their shock at the apparent lack of gravity. Of being served by The Invisible Waitress.

And Daniel, her manager (the phony little ass-maggot) would probably piss his pants at the uncanny spectacle. She pictured herself yanking Danny-Boy’s pants down from across the dining area. Exposing his shriveled dick to the puzzled customers and aghast staff.

Kelly giggled again.

But no, she couldn’t do any of that yummy stuff. If she exposed her secret power publicly, it would make her a prime suspect when she popped James’s head like a blister.    

She couldn’t afford any slip-ups before the big day came.

She sat down on the couch and stared at the dull, sleeping TV. She still had to kill time until the power returned. 

She leaned back and closed her eyes and opened the refrigerator. She tried to visualize the groceries inside. She remembered she still had three cans of Red Bull and tried to pluck one from the shelf. 

But it was no use. She couldn’t make mental contact with the can. It resisted her invisible grip. Some things just stubbornly remained out of reach.

Then she remembered the fridge wasn’t running and quickly closed the door. She had to conserve the cold inside. Who knew when the power would come back? 

But damn, she really needed more caffeine. 

“Aw shit.” She pushed herself up, walked to the kitchen, grabbed two cans of Red Bull, and then returned to the couch. She let out a deflated breath.

For the first time she recognized the effort it took to accomplish small tasks. Once her telekinesis was firing on all cylinders, once she could make everything come to her, she might never leave the couch. 

She saw herself at 300 pounds, sprawled across the sofa, watching talk shows and celebrity news while Hostess Twinkies and cupcakes floated into her gaping mouth. 

She had a brief vision of herself defecating into the air, sending the turds to the toilet telekinetically. 

She pushed the hideous image away. 

She’d have to guard against that sort of thing. She couldn’t allow her power to make her lazy. Cause her to go completely to seed. Physical exercise would still be necessary, even in a world where her car could fly.

Luckily, her work was a workout. And she certainly couldn’t afford to quit. She couldn’t launch a new career making things levitate.

Not if she intended to murder her ex-boyfriend. 

James, you prick. You fucking prick. Your days are numbered. 

Kelly felt fresh anger rise inside her. She hated James with a scorching hellish passion. And where the hell was that goddamn electrician? She needed her fucking TV back! 

She focused all her hate and rage at the heavy television set and it shot straight into the air, striking the ceiling and shattering the screen and a burst of blue-and-white flame exploded forth and then vanished in an instant and Kelly felt a wave of residual heat against her face like a dry baptism of fire and fury.

The television crashed to the floor and then crackled and hissed as the power in the house surged back on. 

“Whoa.” 

The ceiling light above her flickered on again.

Anger, she realized. Anger and hate could fuel her power. Like a gas tank in a ballistic missile.         

She also realized—with an almost sexual thrill—that she possessed a new weapon in her mental arsenal: pyrokinesis. She could create fiery explosions without lifting a finger.

She remembered the violent prom scene at the end of the movie Carrie.

Kelly smirked to herself. She was already blessed with the ability to summon outrage and wrath at the slightest provocation. She was well-practiced in the art of the temper tantrum. She would take wraith-like revenge and it would taste sweet. Satisfying. 

Jamie-Boy didn’t stand a chance.

And they would just chalk it up to spontaneous human combustion.