Closing your eyes you reach down to the long, white, trailing skirt. Slowly, and smoothly your hand runs over the fabric. You had done it a thousand times before, but you never got tired of its silky texture, and old fashioned smell. Gradually, your bony fingers work their way towards the back of the dress. Gently you caress the strings of pearls in a smooth and nonchalant gesture. Every bead, that moves between your fingers, is familiar to you and yet you could continue to wrap your fist around them without a hint of boredom. Carefully your hands move on to the bodice and then lazily they crawl towards the hem of the dress, like a spider crawls on her freshly fashioned web. With every movement, your imagination is running more and more wild.
Then, your eyes open quickly to the sharp sound of wedding bells. Your dreams are cut short, as you harshly snap back into this superfluous reality. As you walk down the isle, you allow one last thought to linger in your mind.
"that was supposed to be my dress, this was supposed to be my wedding day, he was supposed to be my husband."
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Oh dear.
ReplyDeleteOh my.
The twist. it is beautiful. In every way.
And. And. Oh! Oh! The anger, and the irony! And. Oh dear. I can feel the anger and regret and resign.
I feel very much that you are reading Great Expectations, with the wedding dress and the spiders.
ReplyDeleteNice work, particularly, as Tabs said, on the twist. Two thumbs up!