She observed them — she likes observing, watching from her safe bubble, a bird’s eye view. They're fascinating, she tells herself. She was not sure what drew her more; what they had, what they were capable of, or what they were feeling. Being an observer, she owned them. They did not have the right to protest whatever impressions she has of them, confirm whether they were accurate or not. They did not have the chance to argue. She does not give them the chance or the choice. They were there for her entertainment, for her to judge. And this, this was comfortable. This was fun. Making her own perceptions the only reality, it felt like power.

It is probably what God, if He or She does exist, feels like all the time.

Intoxicating, absolute control. For ephemeral moments she’s convinced this is all she’ll ever need. For another split second, her body tenses with the impulse to jump.