"So come on, and make the gun fire! Let's see what magic psychic powers you possess!"
             "No, the gift I have isn't for entertainment."
             "Well it is now, and if you don't do it, I'll have you shot!"
             Vladimir was reluctant at first, he knew what it might lead up to but then realized that it was essential to his survival. So the gun fired with a loud bang and pushed back at the air that seemed to be holding it up from the recoil. It then hovered down softly to the desk where it had come from. The gun still smoking was being eyed by the master Ukinchakin of the camp.
             "That will be all, take him back to his quarters and make sure he doesn't levitate a gun out of your belt buckle!" The soldiers then escorted Vladimir to his quarters, a small room in the prisoner part of the concentration camp that would have seemed almost luxurious to the other Jews who had to sleep in huts crammed with hundreds of people. Vladimir was lucky to have a room like his, only because he was a celebrity in Russia where he performed in theatres and shows displaying his psychic abilities. But despite this he still complained of his living quarters.
             It had been a week since his capture in Poland on the New Year's Eve. The year was now 1942, he had just arrived at the Breznov concentration camp on the east side of Germany. Vladimir was growing impatient; he was worried about what was going to happen to him and when he would be able to go to his home in Russia.
             Then suddenly someone was knocking on the door.
             "You stupid JEW! You did it, didn't you?" two guards came into his room half drunk with baseball bats.
             They didn't tell him what he did, but after that night Vladimir started to grow his powers as the war went on.
             He was able to soon do more than bend spoons and make people think they were animals; he started to try and control people and influence how they speak.
             ...