In the Claws of an Angel

"There have been more and more reports of mutant sightings in Portland, as well as other cities all across the country..."

The news droned in the background of my room from my small, box TV with the fuzzy picture.

I could hear it and understand it, but mostly it was just noise... I was more focused on the purple pen that was laying on the desk in front of me.

My ice blue eyes were glued to it, and I thought hard, willing the pen to move.

I know, I sound crazy... But I swear to you, I'd done it before. Moved things without touching them, I mean... With my mind.

The problem was, I had no idea how I did it.

"Move..." I whispered to the pen, "Moooove..."

It didn't budge. I narrowed my eyes and tensed each muscle in my body, putting every last ounce of physical and mental energy I had into making that pen move... But I had no luck.

With a sigh of defeat, I flopped back in my chair and turned my eyes to the news. The anchor, a blonde woman with thin lips and dark eyes, was still talking about mutants.

"...Would like to warn the public that although most mutants look like regular people, they are very dangerous." The woman's voice was very serious, and she shuffled through some papers in front of her. " You are strongly advised to avoid the red areas, or Hot Spots, as shown on this map. These are the areas that mutants are most commonly seen... Parents are urged to keep children indoors after dark, and be sure to-"

I frowned as I reached up and pressed the power button at the bottom of my TV. Ever since the attack on the White House almost a month ago was linked to mutants, the United States was worked up into a frenzy.

All you could ever expect to hear on the news were stories about mutants who used their abilities to rob banks, steal cars, destroy public property... or even murder.

The previously peaceful world was now divided into two classes, human and mutant... and we were at war, whether we wanted to be or not.

I hated hearing about all the horrible things mutants did, because over the past two or three weeks, I had been showing signs that I was... one of them. A mutant.

As much as the idea terrified me, I was slowly coming to the realization that I couldn't change my DNA... So I would have to accept it, somehow.

I looked back at the pen, thinking that maybe if I tried to catch myself off guard I could trigger whatever it was that would make it move... Nothing. But I knew I could do it.

When it first happened two weeks ago, I had been in the family room folding laundry. Troy, my mother's angry, drunken boyfriend, had walked into the room and seen that one of his white t-shirts had been thrown in with the colors, and had been turned pale pink.

He and I had gotten into a spat over it, which I was usually good at avoiding... My main defense was to stay quiet and unnoticed, biting my tounge and keeping my opinions to myself to prevent confrontation. I was meek and shy by nature, but just like everyone else, I had my breaking points.

When Troy had called me an 'ignorant wench' as a comeback to my telling him he wouldn't have to worry about his shirts if he washed them himself, I thought that had been the end of the arguement.

But of course it hadn't been. He proceeded to kick the four piles of neatly folded laundry all over the living room, finishing everything off by dumping the rest of his warm beer over the clothes closest to him, which happened to be sprawled across the recliner... lovely.

"Guess you'll just have to do it again." He had growled down at me, "Get it right this time... Clean this chair up, too."

I had stayed quiet while Troy turned and left the room. His footsteps pounded down the hall, and I flinched at the sound of his bedroom door slamming.

At first, I didn't move. I had been too angry... I spent my entire day doing all of our laundry after a double shift at the bar the day before. I was exhausted, and Troy had just given me an extra three hours of work.

With a frustrated sigh, I had reluctantly stood up and began gathering the clothes again. I started to get a headache, and the more I thought about how much of an inconsiderate jackass Troy was, the worse the pain became.

It didn't take long before the pressure crushing my head became too much, forcing me to sit down on the couch. I groaned and pressed my fingers into my temples, but relief didn't come.

I lowered my hands from my temples and stood up from the couch, on my way to the kitchen to get some Advil... But I immediately froze in my tracks when my eyes took in the room.

All of the laundry, as well as the laundry basket, was floating... As if gravity had been turned off.

My eyes felt like they were glued open, and I couldn't look away. It was like I was in a strange dream. I must have stood there staring at the impossible for at least a full minute, before the sound of the master bedroom door slamming again jarred me back into reality.

The clothes and the basket crashed back to the floor before my eyes, just as Troy came stomping through again on his way to the kitchen. He halted and glared around the room at the clothes, then at me.

"You still haven't got this shit picked up?" was all he had said before disappearing into the kitchen.

I said nothing as I bent down and began picking up the shirts and pants, only listened to the sound of the refrigerator door opening. The jingling of bottles clanking together came next, which meant Troy was grabbing another beer.

I ignored him as he passed by again, shutting himself back into the bedroom. That was that for the night...

Shortly after that had happened, the stories of mutants began to blow up the news, and I was able to put two and two together... It was me that made the laundry float, it had to have been... I just didn't know how I did it.

I was a mutant... To this day, sitting in my room staring at this purple pen, I couldn't make it or anything else move on my own... it only happened when my emotions spiked, which was usually after a fight with my mom or Troy, or at work during a stressful shift.

Amazingly, though, I had kept this strange ability of mine secret from everyone around me.

I finally gave up on the pen, and stood up from my chair. I flopped down on my bed... Just as the electricity cut out, leaving the house dim and quiet.

I was confused for a second, peering around my room. It was only about six o'clock in the evening, so there was still just a little bit of sunlight showing through my curtains. Then suddenly, it hit me.

"Shit, the electric bill...!" I gasped and began rumaging under my bed, searching for my box of bills. Finally, I pulled it out and found the most current electric bill.

It was the final notice that the power would be disconnected if $89.65 wasn't paid by May 7th... Which was today.

I cursed quietly. How could I forget to pay the electric bill? Now I was screwed, I was completely broke until pay day, which was a week away.

I groaned and pushed myself off my bed to head out to the kitchen. I was sure I'd hear it from Troy...

My mom was already on my ass before I could even make it down the hallway.

"What the hell, Ana?!" She screeched at me in her slightly raspy voice, "Did you forget to pay the damn bill?! Troy's gonna have a fit!"

She was sitting on the couch in her mint green robe. Her stringy blonde hair was tied up in a pony tail, a magazine was open in her lap, and a cigrette was lit in between her fingers. The room was dim, but I could see the nasty scowl on her face, wrinkled and aged from years of smoking and binge drinking.

"Yes, mom, I forgot to pay the bill..." I grumbled my confession as I turned right at the end of the hall and crossing the kitchen floor, "I think we have some candles around here somewhere."

I heard my mom scoff, then turn the page of her magazine. "You better hope so."

I rolled my eyes as I opened the first of our many junk drawers.

"Thanks for the help, mom..." I muttered to myself.

But really, I wasn't surprised with her attitude. It was exactly the same as it had always been, and I didn't expect it to change anytime soon.

Right as I pulled the second drawer open, the front door swung open right along with it. Troy was home early from the bar. My stomach fluttered as I heard my mom greet him... Her voice was sweet and sincere, much different than the harsh way she spoke to me.

It made me sick, and honestly, it hurt.

Sure enough, Troy held up to his dirtbag ways and completely ignored my mom's greeting. Instead, he slammed the front door and immediately jiggled the lightswitch to his left.

"The hell's goin' on?" He demanded in a whiskey soaked slur.

"Anabelle didn't pay the bill." My mom didn't even hesitate to throw me under the bus.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Troy roared abruptly, then stumbled to the doorframe of the kitchen. He braced his hands on either side of the frame to hold his body up. "Are you... KIDDING me, Anabelle?!"

I ignored him. My blood was boiling. I wanted to turn around and tell him he was a grown ass man, that he needed to put down the bottle and get a damn job. I wanted to tell him he was a waste of space, a useless sack of skin that was just dead weight in society... But of course I held my tounge, and just kept searching for those candles.

This just added fuel to Troy's drunken rage, sending him parading through the house in the dark. I could hear him cursing and smashing anything and everything he got his hands on. My mom followed Troy into every room, apologizing and begging him to calm down.

"That airhead daughter of yours is wearing on my last nerve, Charlene," Troy growled, fighting back burps and hiccups. My mom apologized. "She needs to learn a thing or two, or I'm gonna teach her dumb ass."

"I'm sorry, honey..." My mom cowered under him, and I had had enough.

I was buried in the third drawer on my search for candles, but my radiating anger burned down to my fingertips and I slammed the drawer shut, causing a loud *BANG*.

"Why the hell are you apologizing to him, mom?!" I had screeched at my mother, who pretended to be shocked at my outburst. I knew she knew what she was doing wasn't right... "Why do you let that asshole talk about me like that...?!"

"You better watch your mouth, girl." Troy growled at me. He swayed back and forth from intoxication, pointing a stubby finger at me.

"Fuck you." I spat at my step-dad... it made me sick to think of him as anything even remotely close to my father.

"Anabelle-!" My mom gasped, but her voice was cut out by the loud *CRACK* of the back of Troy's hand making contact with my cheek.

It had happened so fast, I didn't even know what hit me at first... But when I stumbled to the side, lost my footing, and smashed my forehead against the kitchen counter, it all came to me at once.

I sat on the floor up against the outdated cabinets, bleeding from my mouth and the gash in my forehead. My cheek was on fire, painfully throbbing where I'd been hit.

My eyes followed Troy's back while he pushed my mom out of the kitchen and into the living room, cursing at her about me the whole time.

The electric bill hadn't been paid because I was the only one with a job in the house, and it was just a shitty waitressing/bartending job. The majority of my money went to Troy and my mother's alcohol and cigarette addiction, as well as each of their social security checks. It was a God send that the house was already paid for, or else we would have probably been homeless, too.

Troy and my mom were each in their fifties and I had just turned twenty-six, and all I had to show for my life was a small, square bedroom with a bed, dresser, and tiny TV, my dead end job, and all my scars and bruises that I was forced to endure if I wanted to hold onto my mother, the only blood I had left...

But as much as it killed me to say it, I knew she wasn't much to fight for.

I had no bank account, no car... I had lost my apartment when I was twenty-four to move back home because I felt sorry for my mother, so I supported her, as horrible as she treated me... And she just happened to come with a leech.

My heart pounded as these thoughts raced through my mind, and the taste of blood in my mouth only fueled my anger.

Right when I felt like I would scream from my rage boiling over the edge, something from across the kitchen levitated from its resting place, then rocketed towards the wall.

I flinched and instinctively threw my arms over my face at the loud crash of shattering glass. Once there was quiet again, I lowered my arms back to my sides and searched the dreary kitchen for what had been broken.

My eyes scanned the counter tops and the floor, and finally I found the pile of glass shards laying at the bottom of the fridge. There was a small bunch of dead, dried up flowers soaking in a puddle of murky water underneath the glass.

I blinked at the mess in astonishment. It was a mason jar... at least, it used to be... And just a few minutes ago, it had been sitting safely in the middle of the dinner table.

It had happened again... My strange ability always seemed to kick in when I least expected it.

"How the hell...?" I whispered to myself as I racked my mind for any answer as to how I could possibly be doing this.

I was just relieved that neither my mom nor Troy had been in the kitchen to see it...

My eyes snapped to the doorframe as I thought of the two of them, expecting to see one or the other rushing back to the kitchen and demanding to know what all the noise was.

But as I listened, I could hear their muffled yells coming from down the hall and behind the master bedroom door. I caught a lucky break... neither of them heard the jar shatter.

I gripped the edge of the counter and pulled myself up off the floor. By now my eyes were adjusted to the dark, so I quickly made my way to the sink and turned on the cold water.

I splashed my face a few times to rinse away some of the blood, then reached for a rag to dry my skin.

I winced as I brushed the rag against my tender, bruised cheek and busted lip. They were sore but I ignored it... By now I was used to physical pain.

This wasn't the first time I'd been hit by Troy, and I knew it wouldn't be the last... So I shoved every thought out of my mind and focused on carefully picking up the larger chunks of glass from the floor.

Even though I tried my hardest to clear my head, I just couldn't. My hands trembled in anger. I was ashamed of myself for just letting Troy treat me that way... And I was angry that there wasn't much I could do about it.

Suddenly, I heard the master bedroom door creak open again, and footsteps start to thump down the hall. My breath caught in my throat as the old floorboards creaked under the weight.

I kept my eyes on the floor, but soon a pair of worn out work boots crowded my vision.

"Breakin' more of my shit...?" He growled at me, and I automatically looked up at him in a glare.

I opened my mouth to say something back, but before I could get one word out, something rough sharply made contact with my face... It was the bottom of Troy's boot.

The unexpected blow tossed me backwards, throwing most of the glass from my hands. A few shards clung to my palms, slicing into my skin as they braced my impact on the floor. I cried out as the intense, burning pain.

Troy staggered closer to me, his dark brown eyes foggy and intoxicated. I whimpered as I scooted myself backwards in a pitiful attempt to get away from him, but my back just ended right back up against the cabinents.

I could feel fresh blood dripping from my nose and pooling in the corner of of my mouth. As I glanced down at the floor, I could see dark red smears on the dingy tile from my sliced up palms.

"MmmmHow're you gonna... make up forr how you didn't pay... for the bill...?" Troy babbled to me in a drunken haze. My eyes shot to his hands as they fumbled with his belt buckle.

"Troy, no." I urged him, shaking my head of long dark hair.

He was violent, yes. But things had never gone this far, and it was terrifying.

"Maybe... ifnnnnyou do me a favor... Gosh, I betchu look juss like yer..." He paused to hiccup. Troy was getting closer, his belt completely undone now. He moved on to his zipper. "...Mama used to..."

My breathing quickened as I tried to scramble to my feet, but my body just wasn't responding the way I needed it to.

"Don't, Troy...!" I begged him as he grabbed for my hair, but I dodged his unsteady hand, "Stop!"

He snatched at my head again, and this time I wasn't quick enough. I screeched as I felt his stubby fingers tangle themselves in my hair, yanking my head toward his groin, which he was about to fully expose.

My heart felt like it was going to explode. I paniced and thrashed about, trying to free myself. Troy demanded that I hold still, and tightened his grip on my hair.

I stared in horror as he began to inch his pants downward with his free hand, but I couldn't bear to watch it all. I squeezed my tear filled eyes shut before I saw anything too gruesome, and let out an ear splitting scream.

I heard the sound of something scraping against the tile and lifting off the floor, and then what sounded like gurgling coming from Troy, who stood over me. Slowly, his fingers loosened their grip on my hair, and I opened my eyes as he slumped down on the tile in front of me.

I was in shock at what I was looking at. Troy was laying on the kitchen floor, staring up the ceiling. Four large shards of glass from before were lodged deep into his throat, blood pulsating from each puncture. Troy's lips gaped open and closed like a goldfish, searching for air. After a few seconds, his lips stopped moving... And I knew he was dead.

I was horrified, but at the same time, I took pleasure in watching Troy die slowly on the kitchen floor right in front of me... and I took even more pleasure in knowing it was me who had caused his death.

When I heard another set of footsteps rushing down the hall, my brain remembered how to work my legs again and I jumped up.

I dashed from the kitchen and down the opposite hallway without my mother realizing. I shut my bedroom door and locked it behind me, trying to block out the sounds of my mother's screams from the kitchen.

My body ran on pure adrenaline as I grabbed the handle of my closet door and yanked it open. I reached up on the top shelf and pulled down my old red and white duffel bag from my high school volleyball team, and tossed it onto the bed.

I knew with all the screaming, the police would be in my driveway soon, and I couldn't be anywhere near the house when they got there... My finger prints were all over the glass that had killed Troy.

I had to leave, now. Tonight.

So I rushed around my tiny room, tossing things into the bag like clothes; two pairs of jeans, one pair of shorts, two tank tops, a t-shirt, a handful each of socks, underwear, and bras, and a pair of pajamas; my cell phone and it's charger, the contents of my secret snack bin hidden under my bed, a flashlight, and my switchblade pocket knife.

I shoved my feet into my ratty pair of plain black converse cut offs, laced them up, and grabbed my soft gray jacket off the back of my desk chair.

I took one last look around the room that I was leaving behind forever, and wouldn't miss. Then I jumped up onto my bed and walked across the mattress to the only window in the room.

I dropped to my knees ontop of my old blue comforter and undid the latch on my window. It slid up easily, and as I looked at the grass right below me on the outside, I felt relieved that we only had one floor to our house.

I stepped one foot out the window and onto the grass, and as soon as the other hit the ground, I shut the window and bolted to straight into the

thick woods that was behind my house.

I had been right about the police. I could hear their sirens in the distance, heading straight in the direction of my now former home. But, I just kept on running, not worrying about them in the least. I'd be long gone before they pulled into the driveway.

As I sprinted through the woods like a wild animal that had been freed from a cage, I realized that my life was changing, and things were never going to be the same again.

I just didn't know if it would be for better, or for worse...

~~