Personal Narrative-The Powerful

The cab driver doesn’t even raise his eyebrows when a teenage girl gets in his car and gives a long-distance address. He maintains a driving pace that 's seventeen miles over the speed limit. I decide that I like him. I 'm tired of looking at trees and I don’t feel like processing what happened today, so I dig out my book. I freeze mid-breath. What I expected to be my copy of “The Hobbit” is “The Powerful”. Somehow my fingers summon the courage to ease back the cover. I start turning pages, addicted, until I find the page I didn’t know I was looking for. The Madame reared her head back as if to laugh. She didn’t. Instead, she bowed her head in silence, a gun pausing to be reloaded. She snapped her head up and strode forward. She surveyed

I slide down against the door and wait. It rains for a few minutes as I hover between awake and asleep. The world dips further and further into darkness. A green lightning crack disturbs the gray. Clambering to my feet, I make out the hazy silhouette of a crowd in the road. They emerge from the fog, dripping victory. They spot me. I’m given cries of “Newbie!” and “More recruits!” from younger members of the group and curious murmurs from older ones. They reach the top step and halt, like an invisible wall keeps them from setting foot on the porch. “I want to join,” I say. A young man breaks the barrier, circling me with military paces. His nose is pinched and his hair is rigid. I recognize him from the book. Ari. He was in the car with Oliver back at my house. “I—“ A whispery blast of wind cuts me off, followed by the clack of shoes on pavement. The sea of people parts like machinery. As the woman passes, they gaze at her with hushed reverence. She mutters something I can’t hear, then tosses her head back and utters a series of brittle giggles. Her gaunt frame is draped in a silky charcoal jumpsuit. This woman looks like her bones could shatter if someone poked her, but her gaze holds command over the room. The