June 11--Raft

I watched and waited. Taking up residence in the far corner of the room, the corner farthest from the door, I observed the rituals people follow at parties.

The Flirts were here, the Mover and Shakers, Those-Looking-To-Get-Laid, and the Observer--me. Mating rituals were taking place at a sickening rate. Giggles and low masculine voices, dancing and then the move outside to more private places on the grounds.

I loathed this kind of thing. I'm a homebody myself, quiet and alone to do as I wish. I won't put on airs and this often turns others away. It's fine with me. It works for my life.

Through the smoke and hairspray fumes I waited. He was to be here tonight. Several of the others told me as much in their drug and alcohol induced conversation. I didn't belong to this scene but no one seemed to mind, or they just didn't care.

She felt rather than saw his arrival. She had waited for so long for this moment. Her stomach dropped as if she were on a raft crashing pell mell over a raging waterfall. No safety net just a loud roaring in her ears. Then all was calm within as if that same raft had settled into smoother waters.

Discreetly she pulled a stilletto from her bag and walked toward the man.