My turn. I stand up. This is it. This is the moment of truth. The first impression (disregarding my previous fainting spell). This moment will forever define the next three weeks. Yes, this moment, this very moment…
The words escape my lips-
I’m surprised at how easily it all comes out. It keeps coming out.
And it’s reckless. It’s wild. It’s uncontrollable. There’s a light rushing out of my mouth. I wonder how much longer my teeth can take this before they crumble and break off. I’ll be known as the girl who went to GSA, shattered her canines on the first day, and spent the whole time sucking food through a straw.
And then it stops.
The light which roared up and out of my throat runs circles around the room. It lights up our faces. In that instant, each of us learns one thing about another person that we hadn’t noticed before. It flows into eye sockets and out left nostrils. I think it plucks off an eyelash. When it’s done, it rips past my eyes. It knocks on the windows, trying to find a way out. It prods at a crack in the wall, and retreats back into the center. It pauses over my head, and then, just as it’s decided to come back, it explodes. A shower of word light.
The room is silent for a moment, frozen not in confusion, but feeling. In this lull, this bent orb of time, I steal a look in Jenny’s big blue eyes. Her mouth is half-open in awe. I close it with my index and middle finger.
The RAs have been watching. They know what I’m capable of, they know about my powers, and now they’ve assembled a team of red shirts, pounding down the door. My magic keeps it locked tight.
I control time. I control space. I am the grand master. I am Merlin. I am the bitch queen of words.
“Fools!” I bellow. “You have chosen the wrong creative writer to enrage!”
The doors burst open, my words following. They rip through the weak flesh of the RAs. They are cleanly eviscerated and hung on flag poles. No blood. Afterwards, I become an award-winning writer and travel to three hundred different countries. I am the pope of writing. I wave my holy book and they cry.

--

My turn. I stand up. This is it. The first impression. This moment will forever define the next three weeks. Yes, this moment, this very moment…

I read my poem.

I sit down.

I am not extraordinary. I’m just extra-ordinary.