Psychokinetic

Water particles shifted through the air, shimmering and deforming with nature’s most absolute grace. Some of the most abstract forms found in the wild bobbed silently through the crisp, late summer air. The withering shrubberies on the forest floor were dappled with sunlight, which refracted mesmerizingly through the bouncing mass of fluid. It made its way gingerly in a circle about its source before it began a steady descent and assimilated with the barely audible stream below. A young man stood from his kneeling position beside the humble flow, and brushing himself off, continued on his pilgrimage through the woodlands.

The contemplative pathfinder, Liam, trekked on in a manner completely silent. Fully immersed in his surroundings and a complete non-object to the wandering beasts of the wild, his long coat billowed about him inaudibly. The forest was a dense one, and the early morning fog obscured still the more distant details from his sight; surely to any onlookers it appeared as though a lanky apparition was making its way along its usual haunt. A considerable path was laid out ahead of him considering the absence of familiar landmarks, but he felt as though the soothing sounds of ongoing life would sustain him thoroughly. High-pitched was the tune that escaped from Liam’s pursed lips, as he began to whistle. The awesome air of serenity didn’t subside when a ramshackle homestead came into view just beyond the subtly oppressive grey. A smirk crept its way onto Liam’s face as the sight of his messy handiwork became plain.

An unsound establishment it was, with only portions of the foundation brought along during the move. Piercing creaks echoed throughout the closed entryway as Liam’s steady stride brought him to the decaying stairway culminating in a sturdy wooden portal. The door was left ajar upon the completion of Liam’s journey, and he stepped into the parlor. A few moments of pleasant silence carried in from the forest, but soon a chorus of greetings altered the mood entirely. Sitting upon the cheap, canvas couch in front of a modest television were some of Liam’s closest companions. The more hunched and dark-skinned man to the side was known as Tristan, and the melancholy of his life certainly highlighted the triste bit of such a name. He was the perfect foil to the man beside him, Sid, whose constant and apparently unwavering energy betrayed his sobriety. Sid was a sight to behold at all hours of the day, his long, greasy mane of midnight black splayed in all directions and a notable swagger in his movements- he was physically incapable of walking in a straight line, it should seem. The pair could be said to represent a cruel juxtaposition symbolizing fullness and emptiness of the soul- not to mention the true effects of drugs on one’s psyche.

Liam shortly reciprocated the greetings of the two men sprawled on his furniture, and directed his hardly broken stride to the kitchen. Upon his swinging open of the refrigerator, a voluminous groan resounded from his throat and he retraced his steps into the parlor.

“What have you guys been doing all day?” Disdain dripped from Liam’s tone as he cast his gaze downward to meet Sid’s guilty black eyes.

“We uh… we thought we’d watch Doctor Strangelove again. And maybe… maybe The Doors?” Sid excelled in impersonating a child smitten by his parents, but Liam wasn’t amused.

“What was the one thing I asked you lazy bastards to get done today?” He could see Tristan begin to lose focus in a telltale sign of his one abnormality- Tristan had a way of greatly decreasing his perception of time, allowing him an escape from the dangers of the moment, or a euphoric way to make a good instant last a lifetime. It would be irritating, his usage of this ability only to escape blame, were it not such a common occurrence. When his quarry was met only with a shrug from Sid, Liam continued, “I asked you two to head into town and get some groceries. You can’t possibly think I’m going to let you guys crash here if you contribute nothing. But what-do-you-know, I come back and find you %*7$# lying around as per usual.”

Sid felt attacked, and said something that would only dig his grave here deeper, “Well we didn’t get nothing done- not sure if you noticed, but Eleanor isn’t in the same place she was when you left.” Eleanor was Tristan’s beloved vehicle, one he had cherished for something like eight years, now.

“I swear to any-and-all gods, if you spent my money on fast food again…” Face met palm in an epic clash when Sid’s only response was his trademark sheepish grin. They’d been ‘getting fat’ all morning, which was their name for buying obscene amounts of food- McDonald’s was their typical prey of choice- on Liam’s cash. And then, Sid was gone. Tristan was not alone in his strangeness, as while his ability was purely internal, Syndicate had absolute control over his current location in this plane of existence. While he hadn’t mastered this yet- a single step could only take him a maximum of 10 meters or so- it proved to be an essential tool in shaking off authority and disdainful landlord alike.

Considering Sid had just done precisely what Liam was going to demand he do, he moved on to Tristan. A finger-snap like a gunshot reverberated through the downcast urchin’s consciousness, and he was dragged kicking and screaming from his happy place-and subsequently sauntered in his usual manner out of the decaying fortress of faded blue. Liam’s contentment returned to him only when the roar of Eleanor’s vital functions left earshot. His scowl could only escape for so long, though, and it dawned on his already tired mind that it was now his responsibility to gather groceries. A brief sigh made itself audible before he chose first to handle a more present concern.

“Oi, Chips! Come down here.” Frantic scratching preceded the heartwarming sound of a small creature hurtling down the cracked stairwell to join its master. A chubby little scrap of a dog came into view and slowed to a waddle- tongue bobbing with each careful step. “I really do feed you too much, buddy. You’re getting fat.” What seemed for a split second like sadness broke the jubilance of his wrinkly little face, but the apparent grin soon found its way back to the un-phased pug. “You want to go outside, Chips? C’mon, let’s go. C’mon!” He led the cheerful hound outside and onto the massive tract of woods he had fenced off using some ‘liberated’ metals from the house’s original resting place. He couldn’t help but grin and chuckle at the ecstatic wad of hair bouncing around the field with all the grace of a stone in a tumble dryer. Relative silence followed, and for about five minutes he allowed Chips his peace.

“Alright, boy, c’mon in before you tear something.” The pup diligently obeyed, leading an unstoppable charge on the unprepared backdoor. Liam turned on his heel and strode indoors, adequately cheered up for the imminent chore his incompetent companions left him with. As he approached the door he reached for a pair of worn, darkened goggles on a table which defied symmetry. A brief sigh accompanied the few steps required to carry Liam back into the Great Outdoors. He stood for a moment on a bare patch of land to clear his thoughts- which would often carry him away and compromise his ability to concentrate. Eyes eclipsed and deeply breathing, the more insignificant of the objects around him began to levitate and orbit his center of mass.

Liam’s heels rose from the dirt below, and soon the man hovered a meter above the comforts of solid ground. He prepared himself for the oncoming burst of speed as his natural satellites fell individually. The rush of energy passing through his figure was both visible and audible, ripples appearing in every article of clothing and more frequently with each interval; and in a heartbeat’s time, he was gone. A lone silhouette launched at an angle upwards and through the cloud layer, slowing to an acceptably steady pace. The act of flying itself was nothing new to Liam, but the rush of cold air as he approached the earth’s atmosphere was never a comfortable or welcomed feeling. He leveled out and quickened a bit- absorbing the scenery below and about him with a broad grin. Time was something Liam had an excess of currently, so he oriented himself back-to-ground, staring into the vast cerulean expanse above. His entire body’s velocity decreased concurrently with his heart-rate, and for the second time that day he reached a state of peace of mind. By the time his senses had snapped him from sub consciousness, he reoriented himself right-side up and steadily decreased altitude in order to spot his destination.

By the time he had done so, he realized it was much too late for subtlety. He dropped like a stone for a few seconds before he had come too close to stick the landing, and figured he ought to just throw grace out the proverbial window; he landed on the sidewalk, careful to dodge any pedestrians, and cratered nearly a foot closer to the molten core of the Earth. A concrete shower followed, but Liam simply dusted himself off as he stepped from the fissure. He cast his auburn gaze upwards and swiftly met with a dull red anomaly. It was a sign- not particularly broad and showing obvious disrepair- reading simply Food Land. It wasn’t exactly the most luxurious of places, but small businesses make the world go ‘round- and Liam wasn’t exactly affluent.

The door was pre-automatic and a classical bell was the first to greet him upon his entrance- prior to not only the withering owner, but his dwarf of a wife beside him. Liam was a familiar sight to the ancient couple, and having no children of their own it always elevated their mental status from contented to outright pleased.

“Young Liam, always a pleasure to receive your business. What brings you here this sunny morning?” the man, Eugene Harlow, was excessively polite- as was his wife, Cecelia.

“Just some groceries, Mr. Harlow. I’ll be in and out in a jiff.”

“I’ve told you time and time again, call me Eugene. Take your time. That’s the problem with your generation- too concerned with their own time.”

“I meditate regularly sir, trust me, I’ve got a proper grasp of ‘taking time.’” The man significantly Liam’s elder responded simply with a light chuckle, shaking his head as he attended to sweeping the floors. As silence enveloped the dusty market, a basket drifted through the still air and met Liam’s gloved hand, and he weaved a path through the stout aisles collecting his necessities. Upon the completion of his medial task, he strode to the front desk for purchase, but soon found he couldn’t account for his entire stock. Before he could even begin to prioritize his groceries- few and integral they were- Eugene waved a hand and deposited what money Liam had handed him initially.

“Don’t you worry about that, my boy. Just be on your way.” Liam barely needed cast his gaze upwards to meet the thick, opaque lenses suspended on the wrinkled face before him.

“Thanks, Eugene. It means a lot.” The kindness of the elderly tended to surprise him, and he turned to leave when Harlow simply shook his head in response to Liam’s audibly sincere thanks. Passed through the light, somewhat damaged portal and squinted slightly as he passed back into the now noontide sun. Only a few steps had he made before a familiar face grazed his line of sight- but this reunion was not a pleasant one. Although the man before him he would still consider an insurmountable ally, he also represented his greatest and sole nemesis. James cast his foggy turquoise gaze about the town, long, thick fingers interlaced with that of his love- Natalie. Liam assumed his imperceptive friend hadn’t caught him- but in that assumption he was wrong. In that moment, the lanky psychic resolved to make a scene.

Liam’s slender legs carried him into the dead-center of traffic as James’ pleasant visage declined into one of distrust- an appropriate one, at that. With no more than five waves of his bony hands, traffic came to a stop about the telekinetic- and he had officially assumed his role as the Demon of the Downtown. Upwards of ten cars were piled into an asymmetrical, ruinous pedestal that Liam took it upon himself to climb in a single bound. From atop his podium of wrecked vehicles he stared down at James for something like three seconds- then a grin broke out on his face and he broke the awesome silence.

“Well, Hero, fancy meeting you here.” James’ first action was to shoo off his damsel, his second was a rebuttal.

“Of course, you had to make a show of it. I was actually having a nice day.” James smiled up at him- his banter was never particularly witty, but it served to sustain the conversation.

“You know me. So what say we skip the chatter and give these people what they want?” With once sweep of his arm he indicated his target: the shocked onlookers now surrounding the local celebrities.

“If you say so…” and with that a clash of titans most average in appearance began. James started off the struggle with a straight-up leap; one that easily put Liam’s initial to shame. As with the other leading figures in the psychokinetic man’s life, James had his own supernatural aspect, his being strength and agility; the most sound comparison would be to Captain America, not only in physical ability, but in virtuous mindset and a somewhat dopey demeanor. Liam’s trained mind stopped the significantly more built chap’s blow without a problem, but failed to redirect his momentum. The result was a sort of falling out between their attack and defense, and a draw ended their momentary clash- not eager to lose his pace so quickly though, James was on him like flies on s*** with a twist kick to the kidney. This was not so easily repelled, Liam’s concentration slipping and leading him over the edge of his high-ground and into the street. He again was able to avert physical harm from coming to his body, but at the expense of his defenses. He may not have been damaged by the concrete, but James’ foot colliding with his center of mass did a number on his condition. Liam was winded, certainly, but the battle wasn’t forfeit by any means. He was able to muster enough strength of mind to send a nearby automobile hurtling toward his foe, which was more so a matter of buying time than legitimate offense.

Tattered shoes met the asphalt as Liam tossed himself to his feet, and quickly maneuvered to regain his grasp over his recently manipulated projectile; the sundered mass of plastics and steel halted in its low arc and slowly began to divide itself into hundredths. James made a move to interrupt an attack he knew would be highly damaging, but was unsuccessful when a cloud of gnarled metal and tiny components came speeding in his direction. Obviously there was no way to counter such an entity, so he simply mustered the most defensive stance possible and was carried for meters before it became too much of a burden on Liam’s psyche to manipulate so many objects simultaneously. James, battered and sliced as he now was, was capable of seeing Liam’s moment of weakness and seizing his opportunity. Before a reaction in his brain or body could occur a steel-toed boot made a devastating collision with his jaw, throwing him five feet or so, and he went sailing into a Mercedes. This was crunch-time; should he risk further combat, or retreat while his groceries were yet un-scattered? He chose the latter, pulling the basket into his arms and blasting James with a quick blast of kinetic energy to signify desperation and an end to the battle, before tossing himself upwards and out of the freshly desecrated sedan.

With a curiously slow pace, Liam sauntered his way wearily down the sidewalk. He left a trail of blood as he went, but what concerned him more than the loss of vital fluids was the likelihood of brain hemorrhaging. He was in no condition currently to fly, and he was fairly sure he’d die walking. A piercing and frustrating hollering, all the more so because of its familiarity, derailed his train of thought. The battered beauty of a car, Eleanor, lightly swerved over beside the curb and came to a halt before him.

“Hey baby, what’re you charging?” Liam’s disgruntled stare was betrayed by howling laughter as Sid’s juvenile style of humor infiltrated his damaged skull. He piled into the back and exchanged a quick bout of delirious conversation with Tristan before they followed imprecisely the winding road to Liam’s decrepit house. Liam figured he owed them one after that daring rescue (in their own words), so he allowed them a night of further crashing at his place. He wished the dual delinquents a goodnight and patched up his chin before heading into his bedroom for the conclusion of the night. In a well-worn and comfortable bed, he cast his even gaze onto the glass of water at his bedside. The water was not for consumption, but for meditation. His mind was cleared and the fluid was raised from its vessel and the unbroken silence of the moment lulled him into drowsiness. Sleep struck him as the bubonic plague did Europe, and he was rendered sightless.