The road stretched like ribbon draped over the desert.
Forward or back or death.

The phone beeped again. Either “Low battery” or “where are you?”

Didn’t matter. She tossed it into the dust.
The last handcuff to the grid.

She sped into the hot distance, ready to become a stranger.

Ian Buzard lives in Glasgow. Obsessed with movies from a young age, he started out as a screenwriter and has recently been fascinated by flash fiction.