Categories > Original > Horror2 Reviews
A short story about the bride of Death. Something I just decided to write when I was half awake and half asleep...Some gore.
By the way, I don't usually write like this. I am a VERY casual writer. When I'm really tired and in that half awake and half asleep state, I start using words I don't even know I knew...
So hopefully you enjoy this. I doubt it, but I hope you do.
FOREVER AND EVER
Who ever knew that I, Kathleen M. Ross, would ever be getting married? 'Twas all so sudden, this swift decision in my time of life, that I almost stood aghast when he pulled out the diamond ring on one knee, asking for my partaking in his life. Yes, I Kathleen M. Ross, would be marrying the beautiful Jack Spencer.
I had first seen him as I was bustling out of the graveyard, when out of a stroke of surprise a car had almost appeared out of nowhere in front of me, and metal grinding against metal made our ears feel like they had been struck with knives.
Of course, as any good driver would do, 'twas I that asked for his license and driving information, and we exchanged telephone numbers just to be safe. I had bent down to examine the scratches our cars had made when I had gotten a good look at him. He was beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, spontaneous, breathtaking, take your pick.
He had raven-black hair that went to the sides in layers, he was tall and thin, and pale. The ravishing man also had dark circles under his eyes, indicating his deprived sleeping pattern. He was wearing dark blue jeans with a plain black t-shirt, and the most absolutely beauteously striking hazel eyes, dark green with tinges of brown surrounding the edges of the iris and pupil.
Of course, we stared at each other for a second, and he must have been thinking of a what a bonny young woman I was, because a pink flush washed over his cheeks.
The next day, he called me to offer a date over coffee. I had happily agreed. After all, I was a hopeless romantic. I read romance, I watched romantic love-story movies, and I listened to songs about love. I was pretty sure I was in love with Jack.
As of now, my mother was tightening the straps on the back of my wedding dress, which was the whitest of all whites. It had a curvy, cuneiform type silhouette, snugly hugging my chest and stomach, barely any of my hips or waist, and barreled off into a cluster of silky white roses.
That was another thing in Jack-every day, he brought her a bouquet of 24, crimson red, no-thorn roses. Day after day, once he stepped foot into the apartment I had leased, there were roses. As I could tell, he was a hopeless romantic too.
My dress was perfectly felicitous by now, and well adjusted. I took a few steps to get adjusted to strolling in my gown and heels, and started to head out on the aisle.
Melodic, drifting music wafted through the air as I headed down the church aisle, no one around me and him, 'twas a private wedding. As I headed down the red carpeting, my eyes locked on the groom.
He was tall, and was hardly more than a skeleton. Jack was not anorexic or bulimic or anything like that, he just never gained any weight. He had prominent, shaded cheekbones, dark circles under his magnificent eyes. He was wearing a plain black tuxedo, with a single red rose on the lapel. I, too, had a bouquet of carmine roses in my hands. I stepped up to the alter, next to my fiancé.
"Do you, Jack Spencer, take this woman's hand in marriage, to love her and cherish her in good health and in bad, forever and ever?" The pope spoke, and I knew this was the moment that would change my complete life.
"I do." Jack's voice strongly rang out, warm and welcoming and protective.
"And do you, Kathleen Ross, take this man's hand in marriage, to love and cherish him in good health and in bad, forever and ever?" I suddenly had a horrible pot in my stomach, something that urged me to leave, but I ignored it.
"I do." I answered, and the pope spoke the words I had been waiting for.
"You may now kiss the bride." I locked lips with his, pressing up to him, when I felt something drip down my skin. At first I thought it was sweat or makeup, but then what I was kissing felt austere, and I pulled back. Melted skin that resembled wax dripped down a skull that belonged to Jack-it WAS Jack. It was like dew rolling off a leaf, and skin peeled like an orange off of his skull.
Fire burned deep within the sockets of his eyes that were gone-they had burned away. Fire started to flicker in a semicircle around us, the priest writhing in a burning mass of flames. The red rose on Jack's lapel began to drip a viscous, crimson liquid that I knew too well could be blood. My roses bled too, as if their petals were made of the carmine liquid and were now melting.
The stench of decay and death filled the air, like we were in a morgue. My skin started to peel, revealing muscle and bone I wished never to see, yet I was scared, for I knew who Jack really was.
I should have died when my car hit his. I should have burnt in flames and lost my life right at that moment. But Jack decided to keep me alive, sealing a promise never to be broken.
For my groom was Death himself. And who was this person staring by the altar, surrounded and dress in flames, with bloody roses and skin peeling to reveal my grinning skull?
'Twas I, the bride of Death.
FOREVER AND EVER.