The curling spirals from a lit cigarette end provided a smoky screen between her and the ceaseless flowing traffic of vehicles on her left, subtly shielding her vision so that she could concentrate on the thick yellow book held in her hands. It even provided a right type of atmosphere as she read about Kirby, the firefighter.

The moment the lit cigarette came to the end of its short lifespan and the smoky screen, unceremoniously dispersed by the harsh elements of earth, she laid down her book, her tired eyes begging for a break. The word ‘fire’ which echoed the storyline formed the residue as her senses filtered back into reality. Looking around, if she was entranced by what she saw, she was consumed by it. There is the spaghetti top worn by a girl walking down the street, the dresses that hung expectantly on discount racks with big bold letters that formed the word ‘SALE’,  the nails belonging to the lady at the next table, the scarf which was draped carelessly over a tall Caucasian male, the paper bag, the ‘No Entry’ sign across the road, the canvas canopies put up to shield the rain at a fast food restaurant, the ….. and the list could go on.

Her world had just changed after a story. She was seeing red everywhere, if only in different shades. She could feel it. Her blood pulsing in her veins. The red.