Must

In this week’s flash fiction we look at when “til death do us part” isn’t such a long time as one might think…

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Getting married in the middle of nowhere was almost like a small wedding, in that none of my friends and family were there. Still I hadn’t wanted to get married at all. But Shelley wanted it so badly, and she was so sick that she could barely get to the church on her family’s Scottish estate.

It must be a Scottish thing that the groom is presented to the bride. Shelley stood at the altar, smiling – perhaps – under her veil. Definitely showing teeth, while her father held my arms and marched me up the aisle. I hadn’t realised how sick her family looked. Some of them look practically dead, their necks creaking as their eyes followed my progress to stand before the priest.
“Do you take this man?” he asked.
“We do,” replied the congregation. They advanced on me with knives and forks.

Shelley’s father was strong but a kick in the balls is a kick in the balls, and I twisted out of his grasp, avoiding Shelley’s teeth as she lunged at my neck. The church was small, I couldn’t avoid them, there were so many. I slapped away grasping hands and grabbed a knife, putting out its owner’s eye, ripping Shelley’s veil. The priest was trying to sneak up on me, but I pulled his stole around his neck and tightened it. His belly took the brunt of the cutlery jabbing towards me and I manoeuvred my way to the door. The wedding guests were sidetracked by the intestine’s – bishop’s purple – spilling from him, and I tossed him into their midst.

I drove as fast as I could, not stopping until, my body shaking with used adrenaline, the tins tied to the back of the car finally quietened.

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In other news this week, I’m really enjoying Molybaron’s new album. Here’s a taster: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NhjrElHZrI