Great stories often begin with the arrival of a a stranger. Have the stranger make a grand entrance and then take it from there.
The party started and there was already some disastrous little details that were not taken care of. The women were all wearing the wrong color. They were told to wear black and these particular women instead rebelled and wore every other shade of the spectrum. The men were all told to do the same, but they wore shiny suits of blue, green and gray. The music was a singer who was told to sing Sinatra and instead sang heavy metal lyrics in a 20s style. The food was all a worldwide disasterly array of over-the-top crackers and bland cheeses. The banquet hall was unswept, poorly lit and every chandalier was missing lightbulbs and glass pieces. The people were confused and giggling either over the poor planning or over their own wardrobe rebellion.
As everyone drank the over-iced punch and laughed, the double doors opened with a loud BANG. Everyone looked anxiously to toward the door and there stood an handsome man in a tuxedo and a woman in a long black dress. They stood there a second with a stare that pierced everyone in the room. The people gasped and made way as the couple walked towards the center of the hall. Their shoes made the only sound and it seemed like minutes were hours as they passed all the guilty faces of the guests. The woman was holding a baby which did not move. There in the center of the room, stood a pedestal, covered with red solo cups of the poor red drink. The man in black throws each cup onto the ground and wipes the surface clean of any dirt or dust. The woman in black places the baby onto cold marble delicately. The couple then walk out the doors and lock it shut behind them.
A party goer with a loud yellow dress examines the strange baby. “It’s dead!” She yells. Everyone looks at one another and cheer.
The last babe has died.