Her hair was red. It burned brighter than a flame and was deeper than her blood. It flowed through the warm, summer air. It was the heart of the sunset. Her red 1953 Buick Skylark matched it. She was running. Just her and her sweet daughter. Running from the past. The scars that he left were a far darker red. A dark cherry. Just like the empty bottle of wine that lay in the passenger side. It was a cherry wine. It became her life. The only thing she could turn to. Her daughter lay asleep in the passenger side, the red ribbon still in her long locks. Life was beginning to spin all around her. Her vision filled with red. A stop sign flying by. The lights seeming so close. “Mom!”, her daughter wailed out. Then it was quiet. The familiar deep red blood flowed out. It was over. It was red.