Wisp of Red
A Short Story By Jack Mint She takes one glance over her shoulder before she ducks into the alleyway. Her coat tails are the last wisp of red the camera catches. Her heart beats as loud as the echo of her boots but she doesn’t look back anymore. Because there is no turning back now and no reason to look back when so much change awaits the day. A man in the street she left reaches into the trashcan and fishes out her phone, the one she smashed with her boot. He presses a finger to his ear and walks…