Though the surface calmed almost as quickly as it had been disturbed, the water rippled quietly along. Tiny wavelets lapped uselessly against the dingy, brown grass at the water’s edge. The world of the pond struggled to come back to equilibrium.

Tara shoved the pistol back into her purse, disgusted with it and herself. A twinge of pain among the reverberations of gunfire in her hand bade her look. A slowly opening palm revealed two tiny slits of red between the decimated remains of the dandelion’s progeny.

“Silly girl,” the voice nagged, “You only ever succeed in hurting yourself when you’re hurting others.”

Face going ever more placid, Tara’s eyes drifted with the breeze towards the factory and humble housing complex across the lake. Her mind simmered with possibilities and exigencies, eroding what little reason and decency had been left. In her private world of chaos, there would be no balance.

Light, still uncertain steps carried Tara around the edge of the lake on the winds of fate.