Power

Chris glanced around the room cautiously. The steel walls of the prefabricated home that his family had been assigned glared back; their stark faces judging him in silence. Satisfied that he was alone, he drew a small stone from his backpack and sat down in the middle of the room. He'd been able to raise a wide variety of items since it had started a few months ago, but he hadn't had much success controlling it. Sometimes he could move rocks, sometimes he couldn't lift the lint from his own pockets. Perhaps if he just had more time to practice he could get control of this strange new power.

Slowly the rock rose as he focused his attention upon it. He blinked, doing his best not to lose focus again. He could have sworn one of the constables had spotted him after the incident on Monday. No one had said anything, but they'd never said anything before Rose had been exiled either. That's how it was with the Constabulary; everything was fine, and then you were exiled. The rock began to spiral agitatedly as he thought about the kindly Silver-haired woman they'd exiled. Chris quickly resumed his focus on the stone, no point in worrying about Rose; she was probably already dead.

“Chris, the Overseer is here asking about...” His mother opened the door. Chris had been so focused on the rock he hadn't even heard her boots on the hard floors. The rock went perfectly still in mid-air as Chris jerked around to face his mother. “..flying rocks. Oh Chris.” She sobbed as the realization hit her. He scrambled to try and reach her, spouting apologies and explanations. What was he supposed to do? As the Constables stepped past her into the room, the rock fell to the floor, the small clang inaudible over their pronouncements of his Rights and Crimes.

“Christopher Williams, by my authority as the Overseer, acting in the interest of the safety and well-being of the colony, you are hereby Exiled to the untamed lands. May your unnatural power help you survive.” The greasy man on the podium motioned for the gates to be opened. Two Constables in armor stepped up beside him and unclasped his chains.

“Sorry Chris.” The taller constable muttered sympathetically. “Rules are Rules.”

Chris choked back his tears. He had nothing, not even a canteen. They knew he wouldn't survive out there. If he could control it there would be no threat to anyone. A handful of small rocks and dirt rose at his feet, taunting his weakness. He set his mind to proving himself, silent tears falling among the rocks. He could control it; he just needed more time.

They walked him to the gate. A small crowd had assembled around them; a few of them he recognized from school or the farms. A couple seemed to start forward as he passed; maybe they knew it wasn't right, but they were all too afraid to act. Christopher turned to face the overseer as the constables stopped on the inside of the colony's lone gate. And as the gate began to lower, he saw something on the Overseer's face he hadn't expected to see.

Fear of him.  

Author's Note:  I wrote this as part of a series of short fiction stories about a year ago, and must apologize for only now uploading them.