Chris M.

The party had five rules. The first one was “formal attire.” I don’t really remember the rest. We wrote them in Sharpie on printer paper and stuck them on all the walls.

I wore my crimson evening gown with a velvet shawl, a choker around my neck, spikes on my wrists. He was in a suit with a purple shirt and a purple striped tie. Anyone who walked into the room was immediately pounced upon, trapped in a huddle of suits and lipstick and screams of recognition.

A major activity was sword fighting. There was only one injury, which was impressive considering the number of participants throughout the night and the use of real katanas.

The two of us were lying on his bed when we heard the countdown from the other room, a chorus of shrieks and out-of-time claps. We both stared at the square of moonlight on the wall. The party was still in full force. ♦