The Best-Laid Plans

This is, as of now, a germ in my head. I am merely exorcising demons. I hope I can finish this.

 

 

 

The light underneath the door made a slant, then yawned horizontally across the wall with peeling pink paint. A heavy head lifted from the indented pillow, she cracked open one eye and it swivelled to the round wall clock ticking serenely. It said half past two. A glance at the figure beside her in bed. He was lying face down on the pillows, longish hair mussed up and bare back rising and falling gently. The plaid blanket – a reminder of her college days – covered his nakedness but not enough to conceal the dimples above his buttocks. The edges of her mouth quivered in amusement, and she rose to robe herself.

 

Taking care to close the door as silently as she could (it could not be locked, for there was no doorknob and just a hole where it should be), she made her way past the dining room to the sala, where the heavy front door scraped against the tiled floor to let her out. The night was warm, though a slight wind rustled the leaves on the mahogany trees next door. The moon was waxing, young and unsure of the pale yellow light it was giving off. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she sat on the doorstep and rested her chin on her fist.

 

It wasn’t until she felt the warm metal of her wedding band did she realize that she was, irrevocably and forever, married. Such a strange thing, marriage. She had entered it for less than twenty-four hours ago, and she still had the feeling that she dreamt this all up, along with the images of both their families sitting in the pews and eyeing each other uneasily instead of listening to the vows; the images of white satin and his tuxedo, both rented; the images of her amused friends as they chewed the chocolate cake and drank Nescafe, both of which supposedly composed the wedding reception. She had dreamt it all up, and such a dream it was!

 

So they were on their honeymoon. But can you call staying at your house a honeymoon? She felt chagrin and a slight, biting amusement, for they didn’t have that much money to go and eat by the rustic roadside in Italy as he had promised, or sip wine in some obscure vineyard in France as she had hoped. They were in her home in Jaro, and the rest of her family had left for Maasin to give them “the space they wanted”. But not that she had entertained any thoughts of what a proper honeymoon should be.

                                     

 

 

 

Author's Note

Be bloody. Please.

Reviews

[Philosophile. (Maddy)]

What's to be brutal about? this is honest and not flowered up. An amazing view of the false side of marriage and those honeymoons, though I've never had one. Also, as the other said: the descriptions were good. The pen works for you, run with it! :-)

[Wunderlich]

I liked the descriptions of everything. It was easy to read, and I don't know what else to say. Besides its rather short length (which of course isn't necessarily a bad thing), it seems pretty solid.