“I walked up to the window, raised my palm and pressed it against the pane. It left a bloodied handprint. Through the red shape—my red flag, my riot sign—I could see Neil staring at me.”

“Red my memory, red my despair. Red my nights, red my bloody pain. What would I become without you, colour of my entrails?”

“Stop!" I sent my open hand sailing and slapped Talbot across his face. He let go of the spear and stared down at me-that rage burning in his eyes. Then he blinked and clutched his palm over the red hand-shaped mark I'd left on his face. "What was that for!" "He submitted.Let.Him.Go.”

“I meet them in this stadium, strangers at opposing desks until I wave my red flag.”

“I press my palm to the small pane of glass and feel the cold clasp my hand in a familiar embrace. We are both alone, both existing as the absence of something else.”

“I raise my head and see a red illuminated EXIT sign and as my eyes adjust I see tigers, cavemen with long spears, cavewomen wearing strategically modest skins, wolfish dogs. My heart is racing and for a liquor-addled moment I think Holy shit, I've gone all the way back to the Stone Age until I realize that EXIT signs tend to congregate in the twentieth century.”