Mind Over Murder

“All inmates report to the mess hall.” I hear as I regale my cellmates of why I am in prison.
“Well, it really all started before I was born. My mother was very ill, cancerous, actually, when she was pregnant with me. The doctors in charge of her treatment for some reason thought it a swell idea to go ahead with new techniques of chemotherapy and radiation therapy. Now, if you are educated, you know that both of those treatment styles are very dangerous for an unborn child, and can cause birth defects and other major complications. Well, that was not at all untrue. The radiotherapy is mostly what removed the neurons that block all the rest of you from gaining full access to your brain, not to imply that I am smarter than you, although I am. It only took me about a week to gain full mental awareness, and to begin learning from my environment. Now, it happened that I was not physically mature enough to speak, but when I could, my parents were quite surprised to hear that my first words where larger ones, such as 'medallion' and 'psychological'.” I say. They all stare at me, in awe I hope. I decide it must be odd, to look at somebody like me, a mental superior to you, and that person be only twelve.
“Hold it, boy. We asked 'choo how you got in 'ere, not 'bout your 'ntire life. Get to the point.” one of them says, a tall African American man, who I do believe is a gang member.
“All in good time, my friend. Now, as I was saying, I learn extremely fast, but my body develops normally. This kind of messed with my perceptions of what you may call 'right' and 'wrong'. The meanings of those two words are some of the few things that elude my extensive knowledge. Being able to philosophize better than most people, but having the inability to move around much does that to you. Now, you may ask 'what does that have to do with the rest of the brain?' but that is exactly where I am heading. I discovered at age... five that I have extensive telekinetic powers, meaning that I can move things with my mind, and, if I am in contact with you, read your mind, and if you are particularly week minded, control you. This is where they had a problem with me in juvenile prison. Anybody who tried to pick on me, say, shove me into the wall, was either thrown back, or dismembered. The investigations of the warden were quite impertinent, since there is no evidence that could link me to anything of that nature, as telekinesis does not leave what you might call a 'fingerprint'. Now, before my true colors were shown in juvenile, they were shown at school, specifically third grade. In the third grade, we had show and tell, and I bet you can guess how that went. My 'object' to show, was my power to move things with my mind. I was sent to the principal's office for, what I thought to be, no reason. I was not really in trouble, I was just told not to perform any actions of that type again while at school.” Suddenly, I pause. I feel something coming onto me. Suddenly, a flash of white, which fades into sunlight.
The girl stares at me, and I stare back. The first day of fourth grade is a wreck, I screw up a ton on first impressions, I spill my lunch on the cafeteria floor, and now I spend recess sitting alone, with no one to play with. But this girl, she keeps staring, as if she can see through my dark locks and into my twisted and confused soul. Her stare hurts, and I look away. I brush my hair out of my eye, my mother tells me if I don't cut it soon, I will go blind, but I know better, and I like to use my hair to hide. Even though I am not looking at her, I can tell the girl is still staring at me. Suddenly, a new presence creeps in, and not the kind, gentle one of the principal. This presence is dark and sulky. I see a man approach the girl who is staring at me. I realize her stare again, and stare back. I watch as the dark figure snatches her, and she screams. The dark figure twists her arm, and pulls her back. Something is in his other hand, and he is pointing it towards her. A commotion arises, but I stay seated, watching as the dark figure plunges the small item in his hand into the girl's eyes, painstakingly slow. It is a syringe. The syringe glides effortlessly through the soft tissue of the screaming girl's eyes as the dark figure injects something in her. Somebody shouts.
“Do something!” a teacher shouts. I assume she speaks to someone other than me. I stare. The girl's body goes limp, and the dark figure lowers it to the ground, the gesture looking near reverent.
“Yo, what gives? Whydya stop, it was getting' interestin'.” Says one of my cell mates.
“Ah, yes, just a... brief flashback there. Excuse me. As I was saying, the principal scolded me for being different. I didn't like that, but adaption is a necessary evil for any kind of social environment. The weirdest part about it all, were my parents not noticing. Maybe they did notice, and just didn't care, or maybe they just thought it was normal.” I say.
“Why don't you just ask them?” says a man who appears younger than the others, but older than me.
“Because they are dead.” I respond.
“Oh, I'm sorry.” he says, a glimmer of pity shines through his skin.
“I killed them.” I say. I feel myself beam and grin inside as I watch their eyes spread wide as the sun. I watch them exchange their awkward glances.
“Now, you may think you know now why I am in prison, but that is not it. I killed my parents many years ago, and no Fed has any proof to it, and I am not testifying against myself. We will just say my parents were 'brutally slaughtered' when I was ten. It was honestly an accident. I was still catching on to the reins of my powers, and, well, it is a difficult tale to tell, and I ended up with quite caring foster parents. Anyways, after the issues I had with elementary school, I had to deal with middle school. My first year in middle school... pure hell. I guess many of you would cal lit bullying, but I call it social torture. The older kids, I guess seventh or eighth graders, picked on me for being small and socially awkward, as well as intelligent. My grades were straight A, and I was always valedictorian of my class. The 'bullies' were relentless. They resorted to anything from stealing my lunch, to pummeling me to the floor. I'm not sure why I didn't fight back sooner, but it wasn't until seventh grade that I did. One of them pushed me, and next thing you know, his hand is flying through the air, streams of crimson leaking out of the severed veins. It was a revelation to me, a revelation that I could stand up for myself, and, well, it kind of got me in some trouble. I went out of my way to get them to attack me first so I could beat the living shit out of them, and not lay a finger on them. I could smash them with their backpacks, or even smash them into walls, but after a while, I got bored. I got tired of just causing them pain, I wanted to see more.
“Finally on the tenth of December, a very cold day, I took it a step further. It was lunch, and one of the many foolish perpetrators who did not notice his friends in the hospital, decided it would be fun to take my lunch. I didn't take to that very well. He put his hands on my cafeteria tray, and next thing he knew, it was up in his face. I heard his nose crack, and blood poured from his nose and mouth. I stepped back a few feet, and picked up the plastic knife from the silver wear set with my mind. I picked it up, and threw it through his forehead, killing him instantly. Somehow, everyone thought it a freak of nature, although I was not picked on after that. This brings us to the day I was picked up, January ninth of this year. My foster parents may have been loving, but they were not perfect. They had been in a very nasty fight the last night, and it was about me. They didn't think I knew a thing about it, but I happen to be able to read some minds, so I knew. The most difficult times for me to control my powers, are whenever I am under great emotional stress, and my foster parents arguing so... I was extremely stressed. I was in my room, which was adjacent to theirs, and I over heard them arguing; about me. I felt a tear fall down my cheek, a feeling I had not felt in several years, and all of a sudden... everything just faded away. I couldn't hear, I couldn't feel, or even see. All of my sense had left me, and it was like an extremely deep sleep that one cannot wake from, maybe like a coma. Whenever I cleared, I was standing in the mixed pool of my foster parent's blood. I was quite shocked at this phenomena, but then realized it was, in all honesty, what I had wanted. I wanted blood, and I wanted gallons of it. I reached my finger down into the pool, and watched as the crimson liquid slowly stained my fingertip. I left the house, and began walking away, aimless of where to go, deeply in thought.
“When I finally pulled myself from near slumber, I was standing at the corner of a grocery store, and a police car was pulling up. I was cold, deathly so, and it was in the middle of summer. I knew it was all wrong, everything that had recently happened, but I couldn't help but feel content with my evil doings. Whenever the police officer reached me was when I realized what he was finally arresting me for.” I near the finish of my anecdote.
“Well, what is it? Get to the damn point already!” shouts one of my cell mates.
“Loitering. The police initially picked me up for loitering.”
"Do something!” I hear shouted again. It is then I realize the shout is aimed towards me, but it is much too late for me to acts. The dark figure has fled, and the girl's body lay on the pavement, unmoving.
“Why didn't you do anything!?” the teacher shouts at me.
“I was told to never use my powers at school.” is my response. The teacher's eyes hint scorn, and then soften.
“I am sorry.”