Anderson

He was a frail boy, with dirty blond hair, plain features, and scruffy clothes, Anderson had victim written all over him. Abandoned by his parents when he was five, he was put into a home, where the older kids pushed him deep inside of himself. Eventually fostered, he was still withdrawn, he walked without confidence, he rarely raised his head, and never looked people in the eyes. He was only forteen.
Anderson lay at the end of a garden, where a large dog was barking over him and an old man was shouting threats and abuse. It was not his choice to be there. Three other lads of his age had beaten him, and hoisted him over the fence, then laughed and ran as the man and his dog had emerged.
Anderson lay there, still feeling the sting of the fists still on his face and ribs, while the snarling dog dripped saliva on his face. Fear and anger welled up within him, fear he was used to, but not the anger. The anger brought something new.
There was a force within him, he could feel it. He sensed it covering cells and organs, interacting with atoms and molecules. Anderson told it to move, in his mind, and it responded. Cells reformed and moved into position, toxins and waste matter was broken down and recycled. It shielded cells and organs, he could manipulate blood, and telomeres, and every aspect of who he was.
Anderson was immediately wary of changing his genetics, but the other effects seamed simple. Regeneration, invulnerability, internal life support, eternal youth. He was using telekinesis to effect immortality. He pulled himself to a sitting position, and then to his feet.
The young boy stared at the dog, and then the old man. The dog was still barking, and the old man was still yelling abuse. Didn't they know? He did not chose this. Anderson tried to push the power outside of himself, and he knew that outside of his body, he would have no control over it. It would be like throwing a stone, once it leaves your hand, it's out of reach.
"Hands and feet", he said.
"What boy"? shouted the old man
"Hands for control, feet for movement".
The old man was momentarily stumped.
Anderson pushed his telekinesis out of his feet. His socks and trainers were obliterated, and he rocketed into the sky. At first he was a little eratic in flight, but he quickly steadied himself by using telekinesis from his hands for control. After a few minutes of practice, he learned to do this by controlling the power output and movements of his feet alone, leaving his hands free.
Flight was natural, he had spent his short life flying, in one way or another. It took Anderson a few more minutes before he tried something more offensive. Once he did, it was simplicity, projecting blasts and waves of kinetic energy from his hands.
Dinnertime was over, and Anderson landed in the center of his schools yard. Some of the kids backed away, some ran upto him. Two teachers were already striding over in his direction. One of his bullies shouted something about 'owning him', but the others had fallen silent. Anderson shook his head, he wasn't like them anymore. Again he took to the air, and left his world behind.