100 words - The Wrong Kind of Party

The first thing I noticed was that there were no lights on the walls or ceiling. People had long thin strands around their clothing and necks, and these were the sole sources of illumination.

You’ll understand if this seems dark.

Addy led me past a table where three young girls were drinking shot glasses full of a thick red liquid.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“They’re doing shots,” she said. She took me by the hand and tugged, smiling.

Next I saw a skull tattooed man. One of the bright strands was worming its way into a cut on his arm.