Never the Bride

There he stands, by the preacher, oceanside. Immaculate tuxedo and perfect blond hair glowing with sunlight.

White dress. White gloves. Lanolin smooth skin. Her cherry lips quiver. Today they would tie the knot on the shores of this island paradise. My revenge on her will be black as its sands, treacherous as its tides.

How green his eyes! Like the hills of the Emerald Isle. We were so young and innocent, he and I. Together we kindled a flame that burns my heart like the devil’s brand.

Struggle all you want; the knot won’t come untied. No one can hear you. A shame to stain red such a lovely dress, but honey, you can’t have him. He’s mine.

Written for Flash! Friday vol. 3-45, whose theme was Moby Dick. This story is set on an island, and includes an overall theme of revenge. Image is Naufragos/Shipwrecked. CC2.0 photo by Luis Marina.

A Ritual at Nighttide

Another Warmup Wednesday! This time, the prompt is to end with the word peace, along with this image.

Not far from the glimmering coastline of humanity, I and my partner stood stationed at the ship’s bow. Though outwardly confident, a glance at the dark churning waters of the harbor made me hesitate. What unseen horrors might lurk in our future?

The stars were in alignment. Candles flickered. The cleric, in ritual vestments, opened the aged tome in which was written the text of the rite. I stood fixated next to my partner. The man in black recited the ancient words. Sweat beaded on my brow: for here approached the crucial phrase.

“…speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

In Good Times and Bad

An entry for Flash! Friday vol. 2-41. This week’s prompt was to include a marriage proposal, and the photo prompt was Krak des Chevaliers/Qalat al-Hosn, Syria. CC photo by Jon Martin, shown.

Few Americans would call Syria home, but that’s life in the Agency. I can navigate Homs better than DC. That castle across the way is five hundred years older than my hometown… and Annapolis was founded by Puritans.

My only regret is all those nights that Christian spent alone, while I was here spying on some unpronounceable terrorist group. I was stunned when she agreed to elope. Maybe she was just happy that I proposed.

She was less enthusiastic about the honeymoon destination, until she saw the view from the hotel room. Working for the Agency has its perks.

For example, through the Agency I learned of the alien invasion fleet approaching Earth.

That castle’s stone walls may not stand up to whatever weapons the aliens may wield, but I bet it lasts longer than the White House.

Christian approaches me from behind, and I smile.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

King Me

Written for Flash! Friday vol. 2-35. This week’s prompt was to “include a wedding”, and the image prompt is shown.

John Talbot’s presentation of the Book of Shrewsbury to Queen Margaret of Anjou ca 1445 AD.

“Lord Shrewsbury, I protest! I cannot wed her!”

The wise and wizened Earl of Shrewsbury thumbed through the massive tome, titled “Statvta Britannia Penvltima”. Young Henry craned his neck to read the page, but the volume was written in Canis Latina, a dead language spoken by an ancient civilization that flunked Latin.

“Our beloved planet Britannia Penultima’s laws are perfectly unambiguous,” the Earl told him. “I quote: ‘He who bests the Queen in the royal contest, shall her immediately wed.'”

“But Lord, do we not already have a king?!”

“Eleven, sire. Her Royal Highness is notoriously terrible at checkers.”

Queen Maggs winked at Henry. “Our game is rather Texas Hold’em.”

Henry wondered how to break the news to his girlfriend.

“Come, come. Cheer up,” Queen Maggs said, taking Henry’s hand. “Now we shall have one husband for each month of the year.”

A priest approached. From somewhere nearby, hidden speakers began to play the Wedding March.

Love and Honor

Written for Flash! Friday – vol 2-31. This week’s prompt is “friendship”, and the photo prompt for this week is yet another important event in American history: the infamous Hamilton-Burr duel.

This wedding would be one-of-a-kind. Her fiancé stood laughing with his friends beneath the sweltering sun. The preacher waited beneath the shade of an elm tree, in costume.

My best friend Alex Hamilton has always been fascinated by her unrelated namesake’s famous and fatal demise.

We’d spent countless childhood afternoons tromping through these woods. Standing in our secret place, sweating beneath our souvenir tricornes, we faced off at the traditional ten paces with sticks as our pistols.

The day she showed me her half-carat pawn shop engagement ring, I knew what the wedding theme would be.

“Did you bring it?” whispered Alex softly.

I surreptitiously dropped the lead ball into her hand, turning away to avoid witnessing her placing it into the breech of the replica Wogdon dueling pistol.

“I can’t believe he saw that skank! The night before our wedding!”

A minute later, the preacher convened us beneath the shade tree. “Dearly beloved…”