 Welcome to Spattered Ink, we hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't see or use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access the writing, off-topic and member-only sections, and use many other member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. We are a friendly forum for all young people who enjoy writing, reading and art. We hope you'll join us.  Click here to join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Rainy Wedding Day | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Jun 27 2008, 04:44 PM (99 Views) | |
| Lykaios | Jun 27 2008, 04:44 PM Post #1 |
Administrator
  ![]](http://209.85.62.24/static/1/pip_r.png)
|
Ifg anyone has any title ideas I'd love to know. Rainy Wedding Day On this day I hunt adventure, but my friend has gone in a flurry of ribbon. I hear the clink of glass I can’t touch, and smell the food I won’t eat, and all the while, a pitter-patter of rain on the white, rippled roof. The walls sway in the wind with the laughter, and echo of the joy to come. The magic of this gathering is strange in a way, of flowers and dresses, smart shoes and collars with horrid bow-ties. People I know and many I don’t call out to me, in sugary murmurs but I waddle right on by them; my eyes are wide, in search of fun, while they’re stuck in mud to their seats, a squelch beneath their shiny shoes. Grey is the day, but in white is the lady, her face alive with colourful music. Her hair is hidden beneath a net curtain; it’s much prettier than Mummy’s though. A purple flower grows from her man’s button-hole or maybe it’s held by invisible sellotape. As a hush falls across the assembled, I still can’t see her; my bridesmaid friend. A sword is thrust through a cake iced in white; the one I printed, when my friend was at my side. And a mass of people clap their hands together in applause at this silly act. Suddenly they stop, but the noise is still heard. Like an army of tiny horses galloping over the canvas above in a torrent of falling streams. Then I see the sky through a breach in the wall, bruised and harsh, as rain slashes at the dark clouds. As a broken drop soaks through my hair, a smell that’s so fresh tightens my breath. Someone, Mummy, calls out my name but I’m entranced, she can’t see it; the rivers that fall from banks of feathers, the magic of the rain. Then with Mummy’s hand around mine, she takes me to a table upon a green-patched carpet. My friend smiles, her waiting pink trainers peek out beneath her bridesmaid’s dress. Ready for another adventure, we seek out the armed pudding tent. |
|
| |
 |
 
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · The Poet and Lyricist’s Hideout · Next Topic » |
1:07 PM Dec 7
