The Meadow 139 horse in the background, a metal cup dangling from his fingers. He said to someone off camera to “put another pie on the fire.” Mom and Dad ate popcorn from a plastic bowl. A beer sweated in Mom’s hand. I snuck out the back, quietly closing the door. It was dark now, but the heat of the land kept the chill away. I could see the fence of the back yard, the barn as a shadow, the light of the heat lamps passing through slats. I made my way down the path to the barn, slowly feeling with my feet, keeping my eyes alert for any movement. Sometimes, chickens would block out a section of light, so that it looked as if there were fireflies dancing between me and the barn. And then the barn door creaked open. It was Mary. I flung myself down. Peering over the tops of the grass and weeds, I saw her close the door, and make her way to the barbed wire. It didn’t look like she had anything with her. But maybe she did something to the chickens. Maybe she poisoned them. Maybe she kicked them senseless, tore feathers off them. She held up the barbed wire to slip between them, walked on her track. The thought of her messing with us, our chickens, filled me with heat. I couldn’t let her get away with this. Adam would’ve wanted me to protect our stuff, our animals. Mom and Dad would be proud and understanding. They would nod their heads when I told them, saying how it was the only choice available. It was only paintballs. I rose, like a warrior, like a cowboy, lifted the gun, and lined her up. She was almost at their house now, ten seconds to the door. I squeezed the trigger. I squeezed it again. I kept squeezing. There was a slight kick. The thush of the paintballs leaving the barrel was louder than I remembered. I couldn’t tell if I had got her, but I heard her scream, ducking inside their house. Their dog came out barking and I hit it with one of my last shots and I heard it growl and yelp. I lowered the gun and watched their dog scramble into a row of flowerpots, knocking
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