The Blackest of Black.

Black. Black hair, black eyes, black nails, against a snow white skin. Her eyelashes were heavy with black mascara, a thick line of black eyeliner framed her eyes. She was wearing black leather pants and a black thight tank top that showed a generous white-skinned cleavage. She was wearing no jacket, despite the freezing temperatures and she didn't seem to notice, the white skin of her arms contrasting against the black of her outfit and the night. 

There was only one thing about her that wasn't either black or white. Her lips were red like blood and she wore a smirk on her face that allowed the white teeth underneath to show. People gave her way as she walked down the streets her long black hair cutting the air leaving a lingering trace of perfume. 

She owned the city and she knew it. Lights would go green as she needed to cross the street. People stared at her as she passed by. Where was she headed? Who was her victim? 

As she arrived to the main square a young man stood up from a bench. He was thin and tall and he was wearing ill-fitting jeans and a plaid shirt tucked inside them. Thick glasses framed his eyes. She walked straight towards him as the crowd held their breath. Just a second before crashing against him she stopped and slapped him across the face. 

-You fucking cheating bastard!- she screamed before turning around and leaving. 

People gathered around that scrawny guy, who seemed such an unlike match for such a formidable lady, in surprise. She kept walking confidently withher poker face on until she was far enough. Then, a smirk appeared on her face; it was always a pleasure to help out a friend.