Break up with your girlfriends, I'm bored

Funky fresh aka Telekinesis story

Issadora Pinzer Birthplace: Louisiana admittance: October 15, 2014

Age: 15 Relations: Mother-Jean, Father-Samuel Notes: partial kinetic ability

Side notes: Typhokinetic & Aerokinetic W/ 120 lbs H/ 5'4=64" Vanity: Blonde, blue eyes

Cassandra Archeletta Birthplace: Classified Admittance: September 12, 2012

Age: 15 Relations: unknown Notes: Little to no kinetic ability, extremely dangerous

Side notes: Electrokinetic / ???  W/ 110 lbs H/ 5'2.5=62.5" Vanity: Brown hair, grey eyes. Freckles

Pierre Lovejoy Birthplace: Maine Admittance: January 26, 2010

Age: 16 Relations: Mother- Lana brother- Laurence(deceased) Notes: Extreme kinetic ability

Side notes: Immense telekinetic, Photokinetic  W/102 lbs H/5'5=65" Vanity: Brown hair, blue eyes

ch 1:

Sometimes, I like to imagine that the stars are watching me. Not in a weird way, just making sure their girl is doing alright. I wonder if they can tell I'm lying when I say I'm doing good. I like to think there's got to be someone listening.

I'm still trying not to think as I turn away from the window in my room, and snuggle into my white fluffy sheets and pillows. My teacup sits half full, still steaming. If I concentrate hard enough, the dim fairy lights make it legible to see the smoke move. Before long, the smoke is picking up the tea tag, and dancing it around. It's like my mind is making hands, and swishing things around. I'm careful to make sure the cup stays put.

I stop after 20 minutes, and lay on my back. I stare at the glow stars that are stuck to my ceiling. My eyes don't get heavy, and I'm still staring up at the plastic stars at 2 a.m. After a while, I can feel tears slide down my cheeks. My breath shakes my ribs as I breath in, and the now crying wind bashes my window as I breathe out.

My body needs to move. Each of my limbs feel like lead. So, I rake my body and fingers across the bed sheet as I stand up. The dizziness passes as I walk to my bay window. The sky has begun to turn purple, leaving the stars to shine as beautifully as they can, before the sun overtakes their light.

Angrily, I shove open the window. The air is crisp, and smells like gasoline. I swing my legs over the window trim, and stare at the grass, so far away from my pale, bare feet.

And I'm thinking.

I know what I can do, and I want to do it. So I take a breath, and push of the windowsill. My feet find their place on something stiff. I open my eyes, and see that I'm standing on nothing. I squish my feet, and they curl and uncurl like I'm under water. It feels like I'm standing on mattress foam. The air is all around me, and I can feel it. My loose pajama shirt is grazing my hips, and wisps of blonde hair flutter around my face. I slam my bracelet covered wrists over my eyes, and try not to faint.

And I laugh because I'm floating in the middle of the sky in my underwear.

The sky is turning blue, but I don't want to move.

Then I hear it. The sound of what has to be 500 dollar Florsheims picking their way down the street. I turn, and see them. Black suits, dressed like the FBI, yet their stance is more like the CSI. One has a brown leather briefcase with the insignia of a circle splaying out like someone threw a rock at it.