Whispering Winds
Dust settles from the cool sea breezes to cover the window sill in a fine layer of sandy grit. A solitary candle gutters fitfully. Papers on your desk rustle. Look out towards the sea, smiling ruefully. Step outside, floating, suspended on a cushion comprised of will and gentle puffs of air.
Turn, face the window. Feel the sadness and hate. Savor the neglect and suffering. Curl these emotions, these weaknesses into a tight knot and pack them into a corner of your soul. Pull back now, gliding away from the small window, carried by your will through the air. Go further still and see the height of the house's wall stretching up above your field of view then down to the street below. Drift down.
Someone moves, shading the light from the window. A silhouette of your father. Reach out. Twist your mind in that unique way. Exert your will, feel the mind of the man framed by the window twist to your desire.
Hear him scream. Feel the solid thump of his impact. Smell the copper-tinged scent of fresh blood. See the wreckage of his once human form. Feel the slight tug of a smile at your lips.
Look up again to the window. There stands your mother horror and revulsion on her features. Exert yourself once more in that special corner of your mind and watch the earlier scene replay, sensually enacted.
This is your power. You can do this to anyone. All that is required is the little twist of your will and their minds respond, even dying for you.
Smile softly. The sight of the cooling bodies soothes the tight knot of hate. Lines of tension in your shoulders relax as the whispering winds carry away the sounds and scents of the night.
Walk away.
They didn't love you, your parents. Now you can make people love or die for you. And you will.
© 2002, 2004, 2011 Matt Converse
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