Clara visits a 'friend' of her son

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Sitting leisurely on the couch with a can of pringles, Clara's eyes peeked over the magazine she was reading when the front door slammed close–harder than usual.

"Okay, what in the name of Thomas the Apostle are you playing at here, mom? Are you out of your goddamn skull?" Terry bellowed, all red-faced, as he threw his school bag in some corner of the room, where it knocked over a vase of flowers.

"Good afternoon, mom. How was your day?" Clara replied in a pedantic tone.

Terry flashed his finger. "Keep your pedagogical ramblings to yourself!"

Clara placed her magazine on a side table. "Is it safe to assume that your day wasn't as lovely as mine, dear?"

"You've just decimated a good portion of Dalston High and probably killed a few of my classmates. And a teacher I hate – A thing I do not mind at all, by the way. But it was a demented action nonetheless!"

"I told you about my plans in the morning, haven't I? An example was necessary."

"But why, mom?! Why on earth do you want to take over the world all of a sudden?" Terry said. "What distorted notion in your mind is pushing you to take this action? I sincerely hope it is not because you assume it will bring joy to me."

Clara sighed. She stood up and walked up to the window, staring out over the garden with her hands folded on her back. "You never knew your father, Terry. At least not in the way I knew him. But he had dreams. Big dreams and he wasn't afraid of chasing them."

Terry's angered attitude softened a bit as his mother turned around, showing sadness in her immaculate eyes. "Patrick, your father, was profoundly hurt by all the sorrow and injustice in the world. He desired to see a world free of conflict and strife, or at least a situation as close to it as possible. He endeavored to accomplish that by means of a political profession. Your dad was progressing nicely towards obtaining a spot in the United Nations."

Clara's expression hardened. "But then some scum on the street decided to plant a knife between his ribs for giving him an unfriendly stare." Her hands tightened into fists. "A few minutes later, your father died in my arms before the ambulance showed up." A tear rolled over her cheek.

"But you think Dad wanted you to do a thing like this?" Terry said. "Killing innocents as a measure to achieve some noble goal?"

"Your father would have never achieved what he was aiming for!" Clara snapped. "He was too soft for that. Just like you. It's the core reason why people are still tromping over you."

Terry's eyes brimmed with fury. "Do not put this on me! You're the one who killed hundreds of innocents with your careless behavior!"

Clara opened her mouth to retort, but then she looked like she noticed something on Terry's shirt. "Where did you get that bruise from?" Terry cursed internally. He constantly forgot that his mother could look through things.

Terry looked away. "I… just bumped into a fence when I fell off my bike. It's nothing."

Clara let out a laugh. "You fib even more poorly than your father does," she said and stepped up to her son to pull his shirt up. "You call that nothing?" Her finger pointed at Terry's ribs, where blood was pooling under his skin. "Who was it?" Clara clasped Terry's chin with her super-powered hand – making it impossible for Terry to offer any resistance. She lifted his gaze to meet hers. "And do not lie to me because I'm a living lie detector."

"Let go of me, mom! You're almost breaking my jaw!" He barely managed to squeeze out the words due to his mother's tight grip.

Clara let go but kept her narrowed eyes focused on her son. "It's that boy again, isn't it? Bruto, right? The one who threw you into the dunghill during summer camp."

After studying her son's expression, Clara knew enough. "And what's that?"

Terry looked at his feet and saw the fumbled piece of paper Bruto had given him earlier. With haste, Terry bent down to pick it up. His finger grabbed air as Clara's telekinetic mind compelled the piece of paper to shoot straight for her awaiting hand. She ignored the words of protest coming from her son and unfolded the paper.

"A birthday party, is it? Interesting…" she'd read out loud.

"If you kill or maim him, I will run away from home and never return!" Terry said firmly.

"Oh, you poor thing." Clara caressed her son's cheek. "No person on this planet deserves your kindness. This will end today!"

Clara strode towards the front door but was halted by her son.

"Mom! What am I supposed to do while you're gone?" Terry asked, looking anxiously at the windows.

Clara frowned. "What do you mean? You're able to entertain yourself, aren't you?"

"Hello! You've just declared war on the whole world and I'm your son. Remember?

"I will be back in a jiffy, son. I promise!" Clara winked, stepped outside, and blasted off into the air.

A smile crept upon her face as she looked at the scenery down below while soaring over the city. Wherever Clara cast her gaze, she saw people with fright written on their faces, gesturing in her direction before scurrying away like skittish squirrels as soon as they had caught sight of her. Clara peered to the left, towards the city skyline in the distance, where she had caused enormous destruction simply by the power of her gaze. The horizon brimmed with many shades of orange where sweltering flames were still licking greedily at the sky while puffing out plumbs of swirling smoke.

The world’s leaders would probably assume that this attack had cost Clara a good amount of her power. That it nearly exhausted her. The truth was that she could do so much more. She was pulling punches. The reality was that this effort required Clara the same amount of energy as preparing a cup of coffee. And it felt good – deliciously good. It took Clara every ounce of her willpower not to go balls out and destroy the entire city. Hell, the whole region, even perhaps!

Clara still needed to grasp her powers. She knew she could do a lot. She had not stumbled upon a limit thus far. If things continued like this, Clara had the impression that she would be able even to will the sun to sleep.

Having the address in her head she'd read on Bruto's note, Clara blasted off, shooting towards the city's outskirts where that bloke was supposed to live.

"Where are you?" Clara said to herself as she soared leisurely over the countryside, scanning farmhouse after farmhouse with her x-ray vision. "There you are!" she said in a triumphant cheer.

Ding dong!

"Mom! Can you open the door for me, please?! I'm in the middle of something here!" Bruto bellowed from his room. "Moooooom?!"

"She's ignoring you! You fat fuck!" one of Bruto's sisters replied.

"Then you open it, buffet slayer!" Bruto said.

"Go fuck yourself!" the same sister said.

"The pencil squeezer already is!" a second sister mingled in.

"Daisy! Daisyyyyy!" Bruto tried his luck with a third sister.

"Yeahhhh?!" Daisy replied.

"Can you open the–"

"Will you all pipe down, for god’s sake!" A fourth sister flew in, screeching with a voice capable of cutting steel. "I'm trying to watch the rebroadcast of the latest episode of The Bold and the Hideous here!"

"Ridge is going to choke on his mother's meatloaf and Stephanie is breaking up for the twenty-seventh time with Eric. Now seal it, stench trench!" Bruto replied.

"You fucking cum gobbler!" the fourth sister replied.

"Daisyyyy?! Dai–"

"Already walking here," Daisy replied.

The front door opened.

"Can I help you?" Daisy said.

"Hello, my sweet dear!" Clara greeted Bruto's pudgy little sister with a stunning smile. "I'm a bit early, but your brother invited me to his birthday party. Would you be so kind as to call him for me?"

"I can't," Daisy said while licking at a lolly. "He's jerking off right now and does not like to be disturbed."

"Yes, I know. I saw him slogging hard when I landed. You know what? Why don't we close the door and let him do his thing. I'll leave his present here on the porch."

The little girl shrugged, using her front teeth to crack a chunk from the lolly. "Okay," she mumbled with a filled mouth before closing the door.

"Aaah, yeah." Bruto moaned while wanking his micro bruiser on the flashing images of a BBBW being impaled through the arse by the engorged member of a stallion solely bred and trained for occasions like this. "Show it to her, Alfons! Yeah, aaaah! Harder. Push it harder! Yes! I'm coming here! Right. About. Noooooooowwwww," Bruto exhaled as his warm load splashed in his left eye. At the same time, an enormous explosion blew up their entire farm, razing it to the ground. Among a scenery of smoky rubble, the whole family (who were unscathed thanks to Clara's decision to protect them from the blast with a protective ward) gaped at each other, appalled, from the same space where a few seconds ago their room was.

High up in the clouds, Clara watched it all with great satisfaction.

"Neither killed nor maimed anyone. I'm such a pragmatic. You should be proud of me, son." Clara tapped her shoulder and blasted off.

She ignored the panicked tumult in the neighborhood as she landed in front of her house. A frown appeared above her eyes as she walked to the front door. A note was attached to it.

We have your son.

Meet us at 9 pm on top of the World Trade Center.

No funny games or you can say goodbye to your son.

Clara checked her watch. "7:12 pm… That means I have 108 minutes still." She rested her cheek against her hand, thinking. "That's precisely how long Back to the Future Part II lasts! I haven't checked that one in decades!"

As Clara ventured inside, she hummed a joyful tune and procured some popcorn and a Coke from the kitchen while her son was enduring psychological agony in another district to identify if his mom had any weaknesses.