The wind, happy fall-spring air on my cheek and through my hair, smelling sweet and new.

His face – his baby face, round and small and content; the hair moving on his forehead, reflecting gold light.

Running, watching them run. Ignoring the irritation; feeding off the fun.

Aim, pull – BULLSEYE! Reveling in the laughter, the admiration, the attention.

Being the tough girl, keeping them all in line. Letting him off easy – a swaying cowboy swagger, a dangerous smile, a pat on the hand; seeing a face torn between love and fear.

Being in power, knowing I could mold him – them – like putty in my palm; feeding off the power, feeling it fill me up and shine out of my mouth when I smile: power – the only thing that makes me feel alive.

Artistry, wit, energy; the smell of smoke stealing through the air.