She shot a boy and left him for dead in Neah Bay.
The smoke came out of the gun; and her fingers and her ears hurt, but she felt good.
All things considered.

He’d done her wrong; they weren’t her rules.
He stood for a few seconds, shocked and bleeding, chest a damp ruin, then crumbled to the ground.
He bounced, arms and legs and head flopping.

It rained that morning, until after noon, and the sun made the ground steam.
The sun was very bright where it came through the trees.
The ground was wet and springy.
Pine needles clung to her feet.

She shook her hair loose, set it flying around her face.
She danced lightly around his body, feet bare, hair unbound.
It was the last thing he saw before his eyes were darkened wholly.
Her merry eyes, her waving arms.

She felt good, so good.
She wiped the gun and threw it into the trees.
It was too nice of a day for shoes, she decided.
She kicked her shoes after the gun.

The law would after her.
Maybe there would be dogs.
She liked dogs, she understood them.
She took herself on the lam.