Psi

Correction

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Over and over and over again, the noise burned through the One on Mulligan Avenue's ears while he was running away from zombies and other supernatural forces during a nightmare that seemed it would go forever. He awoke after getting caught by a "zombie" and relaxed as he realized the beeping had been his alarm clock, and the zombies had been a dream.
Doing his usual routine was easy enough, even though he had no school today. The principal expelled him for almost murdering a kindergartener and faced serious charges.
He killed animals, and he was manipulative, a liar, a killer. It was easy to tell he would be insane. It was easy to tell he was a sociopath. It was easy to know that he would become a serial killer. Yet no one knew.
Not even his parents. Of course, his parents were dead. Where were they? No evidence, no body, no nothing. Lewis had disintegrated them with nothing but his mind. He had wanted to be powerful. He was powerful. He wanted to be a god. He wanted to be God. He was God.
He could still remember every detail of the night he had killed them. Every. Single. Detail.
    His dad and mother had been doing drugs in their room. He had been sitting on the disgusting, stained couch of their house reeked of weed and alcohol. His father went over to bother him. He did not want to be bothered. He wanted nothing more than his father to be dead.
    "Why are you sulking like that?" his father said the words drunkenly, slurred, tired.
    He decided to give him the silent treatment. He closed his eyes and was surprised to hear nothing. He had expected his dad to hit him. However, nothing happened—nothing except his mother's shrieks.
    "YOU DID THIS!" she spoke with drunken somber.
    "What are you talking about-" his sentence was cut short as he looked over to see his father's head popped open like popcorn in a microwave.
    He didn't feel anything. He just stared. He didn't care. It was what he wanted, after all. His mother was still sobbing. Loudly, at that. The noise annoyed him. He also wanted her dead. He closed his eyes again, and his mother suddenly stopped making noise. He looked again to see his mother turned into a pile of ashes.
    "Nothing makes sense anymore." he said aloud.
    The blood from his father, his body, and his mother's ashes floated into the air and started to fold in on themselves, and it disappeared—no trace of anything. Everything was perfectly fine. Everything except for the roach-infested, drug-filled, disgusting house that needed to be fixed, Corrected. He held his hand out, and a broom seemed to jump out of its spot and into his hands. He closed his eyes again and his parents appeared. They were different. They were perfect. And after he gave them the broom, they started cleaning. He had just Corrected them. For lack of a better word.