It Isn't Supposed To Be This Way

Flash fiction set in a church. For more of my writing, go to andrewhenleywriting.wordpress.com

Lilies line the aisle as The Father leads the way. Their open petals spread wide to clasp the emotion inside the church. The rafters of the roof swell with years of absorbed sacraments, creaking, smiling, crying.

 

The Woman at the altar, centrepiece in her best dress, and every hair in its perfect place. The happiest expression she’s ever going to have again, stuck on her face. Unnatural maybe, but allowances are made for the occasion. Her false joy accepted without contempt. The Husband can’t bear to look. He itches at his wedding ring; it burns with unfamiliarity.

 

The Friends staring absently; lost. A key part of their existence torn off and left to flutter away on the winds of purgatory to an unchartered destination.

 

The Mother feels a strangling lump bloom in her throat. Her whole existence not just torn up, but torn off. Confetti. The Mother without a daughter. Once she leaves the church, she’s lost forever. The Mother will still talk about her, think about her, wait by the phone for her to call, but The Woman won’t.

 

A collective catch in all the voices in the church as they struggle through the hymns. The Woman has her final procession as they close the lid on her pine carriage. The grief oiled cogs in the broken hearts and shellshocked minds of The Father, The Husband, The Friends, The Mother, they all whisper the same whirr; It Isn’t Supposed To Be This Way.