Synecdoche

The only feature I remembered about her was her hair. Fiery, bright, and vibrant, bouncing down her spine every time she leaned her head back, laughing at something that wasn't really funny but the amount of tequila coursing through her veins made anything laughable. Red was stunning, every guy in there was watching as she stood on tables and danced. Men would keep buying her shots, hoping Red would get a little too drunk and they'd get the chance to take her home. But Red didn't go home with any of these men, witnesses all stated that they had seen her leave with the group of equally stunning girls she had originally walked in with. Red had gone back to her small apartment in Back Bay, where her friends had cleaned her up, and tucked her into bed, closing the curtains to help the hangover they were positive would hit her the next day. But Red never woke up the next morning, nor the next. The stab wounds in her chest and red-stained sheets made it obvious she wouldn't wake up again.