Personal Narrative : ' The Demon Girl ' Essay

Personal Narrative : ' The Demon Girl ' Essay

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I spin, shoving him away. I’m done. I am not taking this from him. I may not be yelling at him or threatening to kill him, but that doesn’t mean I won’t punch him in the face. I don’t even know why I haven’t killed him yet, or returned to favor for leaving me broken and beaten after killing that shape-shifting demon in Scelestus City.
I open my mouth to growl something rather nasty when a familiar face comes into my vision. I freeze. All my anger dissolves as I push pass Jagger and race over to the cell. I reach the cell, panicking, and I bang against the shield, trying to get the person’s attention. My heart is heavy in my chest at the thought of her being dead. She is the last person I thought I would see here.
Actually, she didn’t even enter my mind.
She’s not even powerful.
I bang against the cell again, yelling, “Brielle.”
The demon girl lies on the floor, unmoved, with her eyes closed in agony and her green cheeks sweaty. She’s sick…No, she’s more than sick. She’s dying. She appears unable to move and her body seem tinier with her thick golden hair surrounding her. But why would she be here? She can’t do anything. Like she’s told me many times, she’s nothing more than a pretty face, so why do this to here?
I need to get her out.
Flames are lit in the ceiling above her and I remember how she became weak and defenseless when that fire demon attacked her. That fire’s killing her. I have to get her out before the damage becomes permanent.
I step back and I’m about to shoot the control panel beside the side when my gun is suddenly pulled away the controls and is aiming at Jagger. He has an iron grip on my wrist and the barrel of my gun is aimed at his lower chest. “What are you doing?” he demands, harshly.
“What does it lo...

... middle of paper ...

...e bullet in your shoulder.”
Jensen’s hand is suddenly tight around mine, despite the blood staining my skin. He looks up at me with emotions I don’t exactly understand. He cries in pain, his entire body twisting, as Jagger turns on the device and shoves it into Jensen’s wound. “What are you doing?!” I demand, reaching to yank the thing out of Jensen, but Jagger’s hand catches my wrist.
His intense gaze meets mine. “I’m saving his life. The bullet didn’t go straight through his shoulder and this will get it out.”
“Why?” I dare to ask. “Why are you helping me?”
“You can’t save him and everyone else at the same time, angel,” Jagger explains. “So go, raise a little hell and I’ll save your friend here.”
I narrow my eyes. He’s right. I can’t do both and I can’t just leave all these people here. “What’s the price?”
Jensen’s hand tightens around my fingers. “Crysta, don’t.”

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