#gowstarters

Apathy hovered thickly in the air, shrouding the gala in a claustrophobic embrace. Time was tethered to a choke chain of stagnation, fighting to march onward toward a slowly fizzling decrescendo. The real festivities had yet to begin – when the pretty people peel themselves from the watchful eyes of acquaintances and business partners and evaporate into the night. Samantha knew it wasn’t feasible yet, but she drifted her way through the party.

There was a novelty to the anonymity offered this particular evening. Her surname had been noted and something she had struggled to get out from underneath. Her name, her work, was often the final chapter of someone’s life. Trauma, memories — a soul deduced to an autopsy report. Samantha wove her way through the sea of masked figures, curious hues flicking over anything that might of interest.

A sharp peel of laughter rang out and anchored her thoughts to the present, though not enough to totally sidestep a disaster. A wayward elbow of another clandestine figure connected with a tray of sparkling bubbles. Samantha was soon awash in a sea of alcohol and shattered shards of glass at her feet. “Watch it,” she snapped and moved to inspect the layers of champagne soaked silk. The crowd thinned but a pair of eyes upon her retreating form didn’t go unnoticed. Once secluded, she wheeled around to face the other. “Can I help you??”