In one of Toronto's many parks, three 20-something women raced toward a hill as though their lives depended on it. Donis was a tall, thin Anishinabe Kwe, all elbows and knees. Jazmin a voluptuous city-bred Black woman was muscled and powerful in her movements. Nadia, Palestinian, was petite yet fit and her curly black hair bounced in the wind as she made the run look effortless.

Oblivious to the warmth and sunshine of a beautiful fall day, the three women converged on one spot at top of the hill. Without hesitation they shoved, elbowed and pushed each other aside in order to remain on that hilltop.

Lightening struck. Thunder sounded. The sky darkened and rain began to fall, as though crying at the women’s competitive folly. Yet Donis, Jazmin and Nadia were unperturbed in their struggle to emerge victorious on top of the hill. The harder it rained the more forceful and violent they became.

Gradually the rain turned pink and then blood red. The women finally started to take note as icky stuff ruined their hair and clothes. They first noticed each other, covered in blood, like failed heroines in a horror movie. Then they regarded their own limbs, dripping in blood. The crimson rain weighed heavily on them. It pushed them to their hands and knees and seeped into the mud below.