The Wedding (Stevey Love-love and Kevin De Rathouse)

Reads: 380  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Please read my short story The Wedding.

Stevey Love-love got out a hit flask, and poured it into the punch bowl, resumed cleaning his ears with his car keys.

It was a beautiful Spring day, warm to the touch. The sun was saturating, of the skin, a little warmer than being beyond notice, it was a noticalbe warm day. But, it was comfortable, not hot.

You could hear the waves in the ocean that was just over a bank. The bank was thick with cooch grass, that is the only grass that grows in the saline environment near the sea, but it quickly receded into yellow sand as is common at most beaches.

The guests, all dressed up in suits, had a chat around the rows of white picnic chairs that had not yet been sat on or taken advantage of. They circled and gushed like a group of people that were familiar to each other.

Stevey love love and Kevin de Rattown stood, Stevey Love-love cleaning his ears with his car keys.

"Nice day, hey," Stevey Love-love said still cleaning his ears with hose car keys that were now off limits to touch.

"Huh, it's a nice day for a 'slut' bride and a charlotan groom to get married," Kevin De Rathouse was in love with the bride and, now she was off the menu he was consumed with jealousy.

"Oh, de Rathouse, try and be happy, and don't get all beligerant about it."

"I'll stop this wedding. I know of stuff that's happened that makes this bride a very impure lady."

Stevey Love-love in so discusting a fashion cleaned his ears with his car keys.

Things in the wedding light of things were coming to fruition. Peoples murmers became more muffled, and, some of the ladies, had taken the weight off their feet, and had sat on the white picnic furnature. The legs of the chairs buckled under their silk dress wearing weight, and the chairs legs dug into the grass. There were round wreaths of tiny little white flowers to signify the wedding.

By and by the guests all took their seats. There was a solumn quiet only broken by, maybe, a man, with cupped hand over the close-one ladies ear, would send a muffled message. Old Stevey Love-love in the front row cleaned his ears with his car keys seemingly unaware there were many-an-observer, trying to politely let it slide, behind him.

Soft orchesteral music played. There was a small, specially-errected wooden stage with a mic for the priest and a back corner for this orchestra. The gathering of family and friends moved very little maybe just a sharp movement of the head or a crooked, leaning, lazy movement of the torso.

The groom silently but confidently went to the microphone on the stage and took his place looking towards the isle - made between picnic chairs - in which his bride would walk. The priest in black wearing traditional catholic suit with white collar, and all, arrived.

The crowed, the groom, the priest all knew that the main most symbolic event was to arrive, the bride walking down the isle, with her father. A deep hush fell in anticipation; the crowed swelled and fell in waves as they waited excitedly. The wedding had gone well so far, and there wasn't anything to suggest the wedding would go anything but well thither forth. A lovely day it would be.

And then she was here. She walked down the isle gracefully with dainty little steps in time with the bridal music. The orchestra played, "here comes the bride," so beautifully, and so slowely, in time with the musical meter, hardly anyone stired. The bride stepped in time with the music, she was well prepared, even though she was bashful, a blushing bride was never more an adiquate term as was this youthful pretty girl. Her cheeks were rosy underneath her veil and her grace, no matter the occasion, was showcased and brought to light, of on this march down the isle. Everybody, who had known her, before now, was aware of this grace.

She was now stepping onto the little wooden stage. Her father who's arm locked with hers handed her arm over now to be locked in her iminant husbands. The priest then piped up in a deep, solumn voice and said these words:

"Do you take this waman, to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for ritcher, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forth until death we do part."

"I do," said the woman and to the same vow the husband said yes.

Then the priest said, "whoever knows any reason why this man and this woman shouldn't be wedded in holy matrimony speak now or forever hold your peace."

"I know a reason," yelled jealous old Kevin De Rattown, "do you not know, people, this woman slept with none other than Stevey Love-love."

"Is this true?" said the groom to the bride. The bride, who was red, and flushed, and had a pulsating vein on her neck, said, "Oh, yes, it is true, I am very sorry, it was a...." - the bride was interupted, "I don't care," said the husband, "you are the prettiest girl a guy like me could ever ask for, you have a sweet disposition, and, there will, I venture, never be a fight between us, and, most of all, I love you."

The lady and the groom made up and silently accented to the priest that they knew of the affair and, furthermore, it didn't matter, they were willing to look-over the night the bride spent with the 'car key ear cleaning' Stevey Love-love.

Meanwhile, the crowed blushed pink as flamingoes when the comment was blurted out and let out a cheer when the groom forgave the bride. Kevin de Rattown, when he realised that his efforts to ruin the wedding didn't work, he swelled up red with anger.

"You people are mad," he yelled, as he left the outdoor reception, with his tail between his legs, "Don't you see, she fucked him, she fucked Stevey Love-love. She is impure, she is an impure bride, don't you see."

By now security gaurds were seeing him out.

The rest of the wedding went great after the priest said, "now, I pronounce you husband and wife - you can now kiss the bride."

The guests had bubbling glasses of champain and they dignifiedly murmered friendly banter and pleasantries to each other. The sea crashed with choppy waves that were frightening for the small children, present, to look at. A spectacular red sun set hovered all encompassing over the now numbed, pleasured guests who felt so because of the champiane and Midori. Later the bride and groom retired to a room.

THE END.


Submitted: August 20, 2013

© Copyright 2022 The Sheep. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:


Facebook Comments

More Flash Fiction Short Stories

Other Content by The Sheep

Short Story / Romance

Short Story / Mystery and Crime