A Night with the Devil

Prologue

There are lights that look as though laser beams scanning the entire place like what you see in spy movies minus the mission impossible soundtrack plus the electronic dance music with the typical round disco lights. The room is slightly illuminated by a dim light that gives white shirts and other lightly colored clothes a neon hue. The variety of illumination makes the ambiance dreamy, futuristic even, but when its combined with the smoke of cigarettes, reek of alcohol, stench of sweat mixed with perfume and bodies gyrating to the trance of the music, rubbing one another's bodily fluids, it makes you think of something else.

Honestly, this is absolutely not my kind of scenery. Actually, this is the exact opposite of what I would choose in a heart beat as a place for fun and entertainment. The lights are giving me a terrible headache, a vertigo probably, enough to make me want to puke my guts out even without the help of the awful smell and the alcohol. I don't smoke and drink liquors. I don't usually find joy in dancing endlessly until I bust my poor feet with my painful sky high heels.

However, this night is different.

I am different.

I am on a skimpy black halter number that leaves little to the imagination paired with black strappy stilettos and my dark brown hair is a cascade of waves that graces my shoulder up until the small of my back which completes the look of a party animal out on a hunt. 

Everything is hazy, but my senses are heightened. 

I am standing in front of a euphoric horde, ready, and waiting patiently for my predator.