Personal Narrative: Power Is Power

“You think I 'm a pig, don 't you kid?” The cop had been driving aimlessly for what felt like hours. During that time, he hadn 't spoken a single word. Instead, he turned on his radio and turned the volume up on a rock radio station. The day light outside the windows shifted radically as we drove. Sometimes, it disappeared entirely for minutes on end behind skyscrapers. Other times, it fell right in my face and into my eyes. It felt good. An itch went up and down my back, but by twisting carefully I could get it with my hands. The cop 's question took me by surprise. He 'd been hammering the steering wheel and whistling along to “Black Betty” when he finally spoke. The tone of his voice was casual, as if he was asking me whether or not I …show more content…
Don 't you fucking lie to me. Everyone that 's every had a little power, even a little bit, has wanted to abuse it. Or has abused it. That 's what power is for. Those jocks up at the college line up passed out girls and gang rape them, just because they can. Then, they hit the fields and win the big game. Guys worse than me line up bums and shoot their teeth out for no reason. Then they go home and hug their daughters and eat spaghetti. Power is power is power is power. You busted guys up. You busted me up good with one hit. Didn 't you feel the joy in that? You hurt me good. I wanted to kill you, too. But I saw that you was a guy who knew power and who wanted to convert it into something. Wanted to tame it. Look at me. For no reason at all, I cheat on my wife with prostitutes. Then, I bust the prostitutes. Take their money. Their drugs. Sell it back to the pimps and pushers, blackmail for keeping them out of jail. Is that right? I don 't give a fuck. Power, kid. Why, if I wanted to, I could take you into a back alley and blow your brains out? But I won …show more content…
A stench came off him, sharp and cutting. Desperation and fear bled out his skin like a chemical spray and hit my nostrils. Something stirred, though I tried to fight it. Compassion was disappearing. I didn 't want what was happening to grow. But as I watched the bum squirm like an amoeba under a microscope, I felt a pinch in the back of my neck. Gloves appeared on his hands, boxing gloves. The back wall disappeared and turned into a boxing ring. And the bum was no longer a bum, but the bastard who beat me in my professional debut. “Go get him kid!” But it 's not Linus ' voice: it 's my fathers, from the side rope. My left jab hit him right in the chin and rocketed his head straight back. He staggered quickly, but I didn 't let up. After another jab landed on his soft nose (which exploded into bloody shards of bone), I pulled back for a right hook to the face: it landed easily and he crumpled at my feet. The crowd cheered for me and I felt the passion for power that Linus had mentioned. Linus? Who? There he stood staring at me, clapping his hands. The arena had disappeared. We were in the alley. The boxer was again a bum. Bleeding and unconscious. And Linus clapping, clapping over and over again, drilling his approval into my brain. “Knew you had it in you, kid. Don 't know why, but I can just see that killer instinct in your eyes. Bet you 're a real fucking lady killer