The apple sat atop the picnic table, completely still. Not even a light breeze attempting to knock it to the side. She sat in front of it, staring intently at its juicy red skin. It was a nice day in London, the sun was out and the temperature was nice. Children played in the park around her one hundred meters away, not close enough to break her concentration. The world could have stopped and she would not have known. She had done it once before. Just by staring, concentrating, getting angry, maybe. All that mattered is that she had done it before. She was sitting in the same spot, on a similar day and it just… happened. The apple exploded. She had thought that it was a child with a pellet gun but she was alone that day. She was determined to do it again, and had tried many times but could not pull the trigger. She wanted that power. To compensate for all the power and autonomy that had been taken from her. She wanted to feel powerful and strong, like a force to be reckoned with. She continued to stare at the apple. Making the decision, she began to count down from three. Three… Two… BOOM. A thick package of parchment landed on the table next to the apple. She opened the envelope and began to read. Boom. Apple exploded into one thousand little pieces. She finished the letter, grabbed her things, and ran from the park.