28 July 2005

She stared out the window, heavy black clouds filled the sky, and she sighed. The sky is weeping. Her eyes widened as she heard herself speak. How overly melodramatic I am. There was the soft sound of breath leaving her body as she gently sighed again, before she persuaded herself to leave the window seat.

As she crossed the room she caught a glimpse of her reflection. She stopped, turned towards the mirror, critically examining the woman she saw. Her eyes were not red, her face wasn’t tear-stained, but somehow she still appeared full of grief, of mourning.

Taking a breath to steady herself she sat closer to the mirror, intent on concealing all trace of emotion. Her fingers moved swiftly, brushes and make-up quickly applied. No one would blame her for her tears; she still didn’t want anyone to see them.

This time when she inspected her face the situation had improved. Still, there was something she noticed in her eyes. A look she couldn’t quite identify, but knew that it would never be mistaken for happiness. Another sigh, and she got to her feet. It was getting late. Almost time to go.

She brushed that thought away. She wasn’t going to let herself think of what was a head of her. Concentrate on the now. On doing. Pulling her dress out from the wardrobe her fingers fluttered over the delicate material. She lay the dress on the bed, then the veil, and stood silent and still, staring at them for a brief moment. She didn’t want to get dressed. Once she was the next step would involve leaving her room, meeting people. Talking to them! And then, then she’d.

She shook her head, as though the physical movement could jolt her thoughts away. Enough. One thing at a time.
Normally there would be someone to help her dress. To arrange her clothing to perfection. Today she had wanted to do it herself. Wanted all the time possible to herself, to be alone. There was also the fact that the melancholy atmosphere would make her feel anyone else. Would make her focus on what this day was all about. She removed her robe, and began to dress.

Finally she stood ready and made her way opposite the mirror to check her appearance. She smoothed away a few wrinkles, then raised her head, and nodded at her reflection. I can do this she whispered to herself. But as she took in the dress, what it meant, she could feel her eyes watering. She blinked away the moisture, lifted the veil from the bed and arranged it on her head. The lace hide much of her expression, her eyes and their give-away emotion would be well hidden.

She glanced back, out the window. Still raining. A knock on the door disturbed her, and a voice asked was she ready? She shook her head. Coming now. She opened the door, an emotionless mask on her face as she headed for her wedding.

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6 Responses

  1. Fence says:

    Because IE doesn't support the q (quote) tag, and I'm too lazy to go back and edit this stuff IE users will have to figure out the dialogue for themselves. There isn't that much.

  2. Anne says:

    Mariage pluvieux, mariage heureux, that's what we say in French.
    (Rainy wedding, happy marriage) So there's hope, a bit, right?

  3. Carl V. says:

    Nice, very well done!

  4. Fence says:

    Anne, there is always hope.

    Thanks Carl

  5. NineMoons says:

    Well feck that anyway. The same bastards taking over everything.
    I'll vote for you on the short story obv.
    That's so annoying. It's just spoiled Monday morning. Which you can imagine is madly difficult to do…

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