The Chair

“It this how it’s gonna end?” Don whispered to me. “We’re going to die.”
“Shh,” I shot him a look. “They’re just want to rob the bank. Besides, I have a plan.”
Don lifted his head, and looked at me like I had two heads. “They damned near through you out of your wheelchair. What the hell you gonna do, get back in and run them over?”
For two years I’ve been hiding a secret. At first I didn’t know how to handle what was happening to me. The thought of actually moving objects just by thinking about it was impossible, and only happened in fiction. When I first discovered I had that ability, I had no control, and was breaking whatever I tried to control. As I got better at it, the more power I felt in my mind.
A chair, next to the man with the gun, started to levitate up, rising above his head. The gunman, most likely surprised, fired at the chair. The chair fell to the floor. Conking the gunman on top of his head, knocking him out. His accomplice fled out the door in seconds.
As Don got up, he pointed at me and mouthed the word, “You.”
After I climbed into my chair, I just smiled and gave him a wink.

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