You cheated on me.
Pyrotechnics throw cartwheel flames over orderly rows of feather-white lawn chairs. The groom sweeps up the bride in a projecting twirl. Everything turns, falls into place.
Imagine a picture-perfect wedding. Now picture its aftermath. This should sum up my life.
"You know how much an ice bear weighs?"
Grabbing a bowl of sickeningly orange liquid and pouring a generous amount of it into a plastic cup, I turn with an annoyed sigh. "Too much", I answer while scanning the room for an escape route. The main hall of the five-star hotel is littered with white theatrical curtains framing spotless vintage chairs. The reception proudly displays loads of expensive gifts, while I lean against one of the white-tablecloth tables laying out the precious goods. The secondary reason I crashed the wedding for. Well to be honest the over-the-moon-happy newlyweds crushed my fairy tale ending first. "Enough to break the ice." I cringe, debating the option of hiding under the tablecloth. If I did, then I would not be able to watch the well-thought-out scenario unfold, so I stay.
Payback time starts around the time vows were exchanged and dinner rolls around the corner. It consists of a line of cute wagons weighed down with heavy silver pottery. As the cook leading the parade with his crooked chef's hat bows and unveils an occupied dinner plate, a unanimous gasp resounds. Excusing himself the poor man rushes away hiding his embarrassment. It just so happens that the plate is occupied with a grinning French Bulldog between heaps of fresh meat biting down on its feast. Too bad, a bunch of stray cats toys with the tuna and the appetizers smell of acetone. Crushed the waiters rush in and out of the salon, replacing the food and reassuring that at least the masterpiece of a cake would be on the house. The three-story building of a cake gracefully glides into the saloon. Angling my phone through bowls of punch, I sneak peek at the couple facing the unforeseen trouble with brave faces. Their streak of bad luck only began.
"Blake, leave poor Cassandra to enjoy her drink", my aunt settles in between me and the puberty vocal change – afflicted boy, that scrambles away ashamed of his failed attempt at flirting with a woman way beyond his mental age.
"Let's talk about your new stepmom Abigail", my aunt attempts to take me out for a serious conversation, when layers of white explode into Abby's face. "She attempted to steal dad after all", I mumble to myself, pointing my devil's grin at the exit while grabbing my smartphone off the table. Even the flowers look more in place than the mismatch of the bride's and bride's maid's dresses. Something needs to distract from it. Mission accomplished on the level of rain ruining the fourth of July.
YOU ARE READING
Shards of Moonlight || A Short-story Collection
Short StoryHey readers, this book will consist of short stories I compile from different competitions or write for pure fun. I even started collecting prompts I wrote or beginnings of books. It helps me track my progress and I would love for it to be entertain...
