You Are Holding A Loaded Gun, You

I Settle Into Their Pace. The Uniform Pounding Of Feet In My Ears And The Homogeneity Of The People Around Me Makes Me Believe That I Could Choose This. I Could Be Subsumed Into Abnegation’s Hive Mind, Projecting Always Outward.

Which Means That In Order To Defeat Her, I Have To Think Of A Way To Defeat Myself. And How Can I Be A Better Fighter Than Myself, If She Knows The Same Strategies I Know, And Is Exactly As Resourceful And Clever As I Am?

She’s Not Pretty, That Word Is Too Small. She Is Not Like The Girls I Used To Stare At, All Bend And Curve And Softness. She Is Small But Strong, And Her Bright Eyes Demand Attention. Looking At Her Is Like Waking Up.

I Am Afraid Of Her, Afraid Of What She Says-and Thrilled By It Too, Because It Means I Don't Have To Accept That I Am Smaller Than I Once Believed.

That’s One Way Of Looking At It. I Prefer To Look At It Another Way—which Is That If They Are Persistent Enough, Even Tiny Drops Of Water, Over Time, Can Change The Rock Forever. And It Will Never Change Back.