by Shyla Fairfax-Owen
Guy’s boots slapped against the wet pavement, splashing silt back up at him.
Any quiver in his breath or thumping of his nervous heart was drowned out by
the collective whir of passing cars driving through the dying storm. In the alley, Guy
was hidden from any pedestrians out on the main road, all of whom were likely
distracted by text messages and memes,anyhow.
He leaned against the big blue dumpster and tried to steady his breath. This was no
time to panic, but he had to admit he was a bit overwhelmed by it all.
He tried to gather the pieces in his mind but the images were opaque; the words
distant like carrying on a conversation at a party he didn’t want to be at.
Guy shook his head and told himself to pull it together. This was no time to panic.
He dumped the body, and left.