Red lipsticks, red like wine, music, champagne, tuxedos, elegant dresses, veils, chattering and echoing conversations in the corner, but the whisky was the only thing keeping seated around all the people I couldn't stand. My entire clan was celebrating New year's eve the old boring traditional way of forced conversation, plastered smiles, wicked grins, and terrible remarks disguised as compliments.
Sipping my third glass of whisky in the corner, "and now, the evil genius, Masso the guitarist" my uncle announced as he made a grand entrance. Gripped with a feeling I never recognized, my heart skipped two beats as he struck the first chord of his guitar, making me drop my glass. A cacophony made out of sound and emotion engulfing my space.
The audience cheered as if gesturing him to go on. The second chord struck the very nerve of ecstasy in me. I turned, not by my volition but by the strange sensation that had enveloped my body. The sound of his guitar and my body seemed to communicate a very strange language like a conversation between a Persian king and his loyal slave. Chord after chord he unraveled a fire inside of me.
Somehow I had motionlessly drifted through the audience and found myself standing in front of Masso and his guitar in my red vintage dress. In that instance, he cleared a strand of hair from his face and looked at me so elegantly, his deep emerald eyes piercing through my soul. In the heat of the moment, everything and everyone vanished. Only vast space, Masso and I locking eyes and the striking chords of his guitar.
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