Stained WhiteMature

  • Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Introductions & Chapters

Storybook weddings and foiled expectations go hand in hand like two lovers drowning on the titanic.

Silas's eyes met with the Bride's eyes as her makeup streamed. She stopped crying for a moment to look at him, the mysterious man who had been walking through the woods of Montana. 

She had fled from the altar. 
A sacrificial lamb, pure and white, 
prepared for the selling of her soul to a man she doesn't love.

"Wait." She called out as Silas turned to leave.

"Are you okay?"

"I could ask you the same thing. But we each have our own troubles. Best not to mix them." He avoided her eye.

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, smearing black on the ivory-white sleeve on the dress. Tarnishing it. 
"Maybe it's a good mix? I really need someone to talk to."

"I wouldn't be the right one."

"Who ever is?"

The quiet of the woods was gently interrupted by her breath.
"I suppose I can sit a while." He spoke and sat beside her on the road. 

"Why did you run?" He mumbled a hesitant question.

"He's amazing. But… He's not for me… I've met a lot of amazing people. But  I never really loved him. I told him I was his. Suddenly, I can't see myself with him… I think I settled for him. I don't know if I love him…"

Silas looked into the black stain on her sleeve. Ebony and shining.
"Love is a fickle beast. It brings you such warmth, holds you close to the fire, but makes you unable to burn. And other times, It throws you into it, and burns you. And the scars never really go away."

"What happened to her?" The Bride asked, cautiously.

"I burned her. She had too many scars, and I added another one. Now she's gone. And the fire has never gone. The burning never stops." 

"I'm sorry."

"When you look at him, does every hurt go away? When you're lonely, does thinking of him make it worse when it should be better? Would you sacrifice anything to spend just one more minute if he were gone? Would you cast yourself into the fire to show your love?"

She sat back and smeared more makeup onto her arm, tears being replenished by a fertile well. 

She was quiet.

"If you have to think about it," He spoke, "Then you made the right choice by running away." 

Silas stood and she said, "I hope you find her."

"I'm not looking."

"Why not?"

"I don't deserve her. All I do is destroy. I am not a safe person to love. Everything around me burns." 

She stood up and followed after him, running into the woods. Her dress was stained by the grass, and then by the mud as she fell into the puddle as she followed after him. 

He turned and saw her there. "Don't follow me."

"You need to find her, you have to apologize and make things right. Otherwise you'll always burn." She pleaded.

"I will always burn regardless. At least alone, I can never burn another person again." 

She followed after him as he left once again. The dress was then stained by the blood of her cheek as a thorn swatted her face as she tripped on the dress. Her heel broke in the ground.

"Why? I don't know… I don't know what else to do?" She sighed. 

Silas pulled her from the mud and thorns. Looking at her tattered dress, he dreamed of Anne. 

He would never let a dress so white become so stained.

She leaned up and kissed him softly and whispered. "Find her…"

He stammered, holding the Bride by her hips. 

She mustered enough strength to stand and she turned around, pulling her veil forward.

"Find her, and just… just go on." 

The bride's gown never showed it, but inside, there was another stain. A black stain, left charred by the flame he left her with. Silas may not have incinerated her, but he did leave a little burn.

She left her husband-to-be, and spent a year wondering who that man was. She did eventually marry someone who brought the feelings he had described to her that day. 


"I miss you Anne"

The End

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