I watched as the fork lifted off the table and gloated through thin air. I rested my chin on my folded arm kept on the table. I kept my finger pointed at the fork. I slid my finger right, letting the fork move in the same direction, my eyes not leaving it. I directed my finger to the cupboard. I stopped the fork in mid air again as I tried to open it. The lock clicked open and I let the fork slide inside. A gush of wind from my finger slammed the cupboard door close.

I sighed.

It's been a few weeks since I've discovered this hidden thing, or whatever it is supposed to be, of mine. I feel normal and all like I used to. Nothing much has changed except the fact that I can do unthinkable things. I should be in a fit, shouldn't I? Yet here I am, sitting at the table, calmly trying to figure out what in the world is wrong with me.

You'd be wondering why I'm not consulting with my parents. Yeah, there's a reason behind that.

I don't have a father.

Okay, that's not right.

I don't know who my father is.

That's better.

And my mother?

Well, we're not on good terms. I don't get along with her. But she's there nonetheless. I don't talk to her unless it's that important.

Something really weird is happening to me now. It can be deemed as important. So, I'm thinking of talking to her.

I sighed again.

I stared at the wall. Faded baby-blue paint splayed across its surface. Photo frames hung from some of the very few nails dug into it, mostly mine and hers and some guy's I don't know. I continued gazing at that particular photo. I feel my eyes heating up. Maybe I'm staring too much. But I hate that picture so much, I can't explain how much.

I stared at the bearded guy, whose hands looped around mom's waist. A kind of evil smirk is plastered on his face, while mom has a genuine smile. I stared at it more. I see small flickers of light. I brushed it away. A patch of ash appeared. I brushed it away again. I continued staring. The next moment, the whole photo with the frame, came ablaze.

I blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Jesus Christ!

I jumped off my chair and dashed to the sink.

I just set the fucking photo on fire! Oh my God! This is gone too far. I thought I was only capable of Telekinesis. But this! This is nothing related to Telekinesis! I just set the damn photo on fire!

I filled the biggest vessel I could find with water, till its brim. I yanked it on the wall, setting out the emerging flames. Smoke, arised as an aftermath of the fire.

I heard the click of the front door opening.

Great! She chose to come in now!

"What are you doing?" she asked raising an eyebrow.

"We need to talk," I said, ignoring her question.

Her face dropped. Whenever I tell her that, it's something she absolutely despises. Yeah, I'm a very cruel daughter. Blaah blaah.

She walked over and dragged a chair out from under the table, before sitting down on it.

"Before that, explain why you set the photo on fire," she demanded, pointing at the wall where the photo once was. I can't believe I completely burnt it!

"That's what I want to talk about," I said, walking over and taking a seat of my own. "Do you have any kind of supernatural powers that you are hiding from the world."

She choked on her own breath.

"No, are you crazy?"

"Then why do I have those?" I questioned, ignoring her horrified remark.

"You have supernatural powers?" she asked, her face crazily resembling a horrible mask that we use for halloween.

"It explains how the photo was burnt," I replied dryly.

She remained silent, the same expression still on her face.

"Um, mom, hello?" I asked waving a hand in front of her eyes. It made her jolt upright.

"Why do you've supernatural powers?" she asked keeping a palm on her cheek.

"That's what I wanna know," I said rubbing my forehead. "I thought you had those."

"No Eryn, I don't. I'm a perfectly cut out human being," she said, her voice slightly shaky.

"So you're saying I'm not human?" I asked raising my eyebrow. Why isn't this creeping me out? She just implied I'm not human! I'm not a fucking human being!?

"No, no. I didn't say that," she drawled out. "I'm not sure."

"What about dad? Did he have some kind of powers?"

She stiffened.

"I, uh, I-"

She's stuttering. Whenever she is about to lie, she stutters. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

"Why can't you tell me about him?" I asked sighing.

"I'm sorry Eryn. What you're saying doesn't make any sense. It's impossible!"

I sighed again.

I pointed my finger at her chair. Slowly it lifted off the floor. Mom grabbed the chair with both her hands, screaming.

"Eryn! Oh Jesus! Put me down!"

I directed my finger away from it. The chair landed with a thud along with my shaking mother.

"Th-this i-is n-no-not ha-pp-happen-ing," she said, her voice quivering with every word.

I stood up from my chair.

"You can't hide everything forever," I said over my shoulder. "The truth comes out in the end mom, whatever the source."