She walked into the bar, dressed to kill. The group of men standing near the entrance exchanged glances, and their eyes followed her down the room. Her little black dress was adorned with sequins on the empire waist-line. Her hair was open, but it looked like the wind had been in a brawl with it. A very controlled brawl.
She went to the bar; the bartender gave her a hug from over the counter, and handed her a shot of Absinthe, without a word from her luscious red mouth. She gulped it down in a go, and then repeated the process 3-4 more times, before heading off to the dance floor. Various people greeted her, it was obvious that everyone knew her. And if they didn’t, they wanted to. She danced openly, no sign of any reserves. Her candour rubbed off on those around her (or was it the alcohol?), but everyone moved to the same rhythm as her. Her hair grew wilder, like it had a mind of its own. More shots were bought, and gulped down without any ado. The night was young, there was no point in wasting it.
She went from club to club; different people, different cars. She danced, she drank. It was 3 a.m. by the time she reached the 4th pub. 10 minutes in, 2 guys sent over beer. 20 minutes in, the guys came to introduce themselves. Flashing their iPhones, in their Levis jeans, that hung on for life, they spoke with obviously fake accents. She looked at them- studying them closely, top to bottom. The smug look on their faces melted into confusion when she broke into a fit of laughter. They left, humiliated, swearing under their breath in their mother tongues. She continued dancing, she danced till she needed a drink again- and then she danced some more.
A tall, dark guy, with the most outrageous hairstyle made his way towards her. She knew he was the reason why many of the girls had left the pub, disgusted. She noticed him from the corner of eye, and straightened her ring. He came up to her, put his arm around her waist, presumptuously patted the wallet in his pocket with his other hand, and quoted a large figure. She turned towards him, and bent her neck a little to the side and smiled. A conceited smile formed on his lips. He moved his hand further south, his smile widening. She lifted her hand to his face, pinched his cheek, and then punched his nose. The anger on his face came out in hues of red, you could see the smoke rising from the top of his head. He walked away, silently, then turned around, probably to screech something, but saw her holding up a particular finger for him to see. He stormed out, calling her things the music easily buried. The people around her hi-fived her. She didn’t know any of them, and they thought they knew her, so she just smiled politely, and gulped down a few more shots. That punch was going to hurt badly tomorrow. But, for now, there was music. It was the time to dance.
She made it to her house, stumbling sometimes, tripping on nothing, while her creepy neighbour watched her from his window. Slowly, she took off her stilettoes, and stepped on the cool marble floor and stretched her toes. She placed heels in the corner, carefully, and made her way to the kitchen. The light from the open refrigerator was blinding after the dark and dim pubs. She grabbed a bottle of fresh orange juice, and walked over to her bookcase. She stared at it for a while, in the dim yellow light coming from the street. Then she sighed. After all, work was work. She pulled out the copy of Animal Farm, and the bookcase creaked and slid to the right. She stepped barefoot on the wooden surface, and walked to the table at a distance. 4 screens came to life as soon as she sat down in front of them. She took off her ring and placed it into the tray, and immediately some numbers began flashing on the screen. Time remaining- 30 minutes.
She looked around the room. The realisation of the emptiness stung her every time, but she had no choice; what she did, was too important, too sacred to be compromised by any affairs. She cracked her knuckles, and got up to change. 10 minutes later, she was again seated in front of those screens, now, in comfortable track pants and a black tank top. She turned on her computer, and raptly began writing some codes, typing vigorously. The other screen beeped after sometime, displaying all the information she needed. It was 4.30 in the morning now. She had just a little time to finish the job. She smiled. She smelled a challenge.
A loud thud on the door woke her up. The evening newspaper was there. She got up, and languidly opened the door to pick up the tabloid. Before turning to go into her house again, she raised a finger in the direction of her neighbour’s window. The sharp closing of the curtains made her chuckle.
She made herself some coffee and settled in her bean bag with the newspaper. She leafed through the newspaper leisurely, and went through the rest of the news before starting the local news section. She studied the page carefully, finished her coffee and got up to get dressed. Tonight, she would wear red. The newspaper lay open on the table. A picture of a tall, dark guy stood out. Maybe it was the accompanying caption that made it so conspicuous: Death in a freak accident. Malfunctioning brand new-microwave bursts and burns man alive. Or maybe, it was the outrageous hairstyle.
