In the midst of a party, I sat square in the middle of a large group of people who, oddly, looked alike.  Same hair.  Same clothing.  Same overall appearances.  All were characters seemingly pulled from a black-and-white film, while I was dressed in Technicolor (a la Pleasantville).

One by one, these similar-looking guests were lead to the dance floor and I found myself with less and less company.  Eventually, only three people remained seated to my right.  And although I'd initially begun to feel alone without a dance partner, there was so much joy within the dancing and the partying that the loneliness soon became a nonsensical thought.  

The only one seated, a happening party was before me.  But I was as joyful as those very dancers; in real life, I'd danced so much and so often that this event was more than enough to bring me happiness.  

Before I could leave, two hands, also in technicolor, stretched to reach my own.  But all I could see beyond those beautiful hands and forearms was a tremendous bright-white light.  

I accepted.