Opal’s Mohawk wig, catching the wind and trailing behind her. The furrowed brow, the tensed mouth open wide, the bulging vein running down the right side of her angled neck. The burst of white light popping off the sequins glued to her lash lines. One leg stretched out to do damage, the other one bent with kneecap scraped raw. A bare foot. Her long black arms, crossed at the wrists like the X she annihilated, draped around a white neck.
