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Red. That was the overwhelming impression she gave me. She was red, from the shoes on her feet, to the hair on her head. Red, red, red. As I followed her into the crashing, beating, thumping, tumultuous sea, I recalled her redness.

We had danced, the first time we met. It had been a balmy evening; a warm breeze drifted over the lawns, gently thrilling the hairs on my neck. The rasping of the cricket's and the quiet rush of waves caressing the beach in the distance mixed with the lulls of the band as they played a waltz. The smell of hog roast, red wine and rose perfume mingled into a heady aroma as other guests danced on the paved rotunda. I felt like a playboy in my Tux and bow-tie.

Then she was in front of me. Titian curls tumbling on flawless shoulders; the elasticised top of her crimson dress making tiny whorls in the delicate skin of her breast, the pink marks seeming to darken in the fading light. Blue eyes, high cheekbones, pastel freckles, full red lips. She smiled and the dance faded around her. I was shrouded in her as I took in the seduction of a perfect face. I filled my lungs with her essence, and she was in my arms. I looked into the deep, deep, deep blackness of her pupils and was lost.

Neither of us spoke. We drifted through melodies like a pair of doves, weaving silently between other couples, leaving hints of our flight as the night and our motion lifted us into updrafts of infatuation that subdued all else. Just as my passion and desire reached a peak, she was gone. I felt her body leave my embrace and she melted into the crowd. Gone, gone, gone; like the memory of laughter from an old man's youth. I felt bereft, as if life had left me and I careered headlong to the grave. I didn't even know her name.

I searched for her, desperately battering through the crowd, seeking this way and that, but there was no sign. I retreated from the dance; walked into the night, a zombie with no hope, no direction, no promise. Reaching my house, I sank into bed and fell into empty sleep.

"Lili."

I awoke with a start. A strong morning sun illuminated the curtains. The stickiness of a stifling day rimed my aching body with sweat. Out of breath, exhausted, sore, trembling, I dragged myself into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. Black, black, black coffee started to seep into my being, awakening deadened nerves, making my body scream. I tried to make sense of it all. Had I dreamed last night? Was the girl a figment of my imagination or had I really danced

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