Here is a short story I wrote:
There she stood in an ivory satin gown. A lace and mesh veil
covered her heavily made-up face. Her hair was curled in a sweeping updo,
shining like the polished wood on a pine coffin.
My what a beautiful
bride you’ll be!
Her steps were slow, and she took her time. She was
methodical in the way the hem of her dress grazed every inch of the aisle. He
looked impatient. She looked hesitant.
Like the breath before
a first love’s kiss.
There was a short pause where her father handed her away. An
inexistant snarl was on the bride’s father’s face. There was a moment of strategizing and
reconsideration.
Like the moment before
an enemy’s fist.
His hand was hard and cold against hers. Foreign was the
right word, a stranger’s hand was holding her own. Somewhere in the midst of
time did a beloved’s hand, turn alien with repeated use.
If the stars should appear but one night
every thousand years how man would marvel and stare. –Ralph
Waldo Emerson
And it astonished
her how well she knew those hands, but how much uncertainty in their behaviors
were. The same hands that brushed tears away, had brought those same tears to
her face.
It’s not your fault you lost your luster.
I’m sorry I have to do this, but you brought it upon yourself.
Now he was
placing eternity on her finger. Suddenly her slim digit had become weighted
with forever. She reciprocated, as she was instructed to do. She know knew that
his fist would be heavier now, more painful, and more permenant. She also
realized that her own weight would slow her down and leave her defenseless.
I have bound myself to Mount Kaukasos and
sharpened your beak.
He then kissed
her. His saliva was formaldyhyde, just like every previous peck. With every
brush of his lips, she grew increasingly indifferent to life. Her blood was
drained and replaced with toxin. Even if she tried to escape, her kiss was
desperate for more.
Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in
the world. I know because I've done it thousands of times .-Mark Twain
Once she left,
and her mouth was starving for an impossible wholeness. Many a man would give
her his kiss, hoping to fulfill her hunger. And in the process of helping, they
were poisoned by the arsenic left on her lips. Many a man would give her their
hearts, but what worth is a heart without blood.
The hunger for love is much more difficult
to remove than the hunger for bread. -
Mother Teresa
She walked arm
and arm with him down the aisle. He was
her very own coffin, custom made for her. She was home now.
