Truth

The doors open and the bridal party makes their entrance, the music resonating throughout the church. The women shine in their baby blue gowns and the bride, Belle, arm in arm with her dad, shines. Her white gown with sequined embroidery catches the eyes of the onlookers, as her father smiles and leads his daughter to the groom. My stomach churns. I can’t let this wedding happen knowing the truth.

Once the priest gives his wedding sermon the vows begin. When he asks if anyone objects, I hastily stand.

The room, aghast over the disruption, waits for me to respond.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Jason And The Argonauts

Jason, hero of Thessaly, rightful heir to the throne of Iolcus, is a name synonymous with adventure. The quest for the golden fleece, brave Jason, standing tall at the stern of his ship, ready to do battle or challenge the gods if necessary.

Somehow, the most sensational part of Jason's story is the least remembered. Despite having wed Medea and fathering two boys, he courted the princess of Corinth as his bride. Understandably angered, Medea murdered the princess and her two sons. Jason was cursed for breaking his vows and died lonely and unhappy.

I'd say he got off easy.

Mr. Death

The security guard at the door had asked you to open your backpack, please. All the contents had crumbled as soon as they’d been exposed to light. Now a bride and groom were standing on a raised platform with blindfolds in place. “I feel like we’re in the apocalypse,” I whispered. “We kinda are,” you answered. And yet most of the attendees maintained the blank expression usually reserved for looking at glowing screens. An officiant in a hooded garment joined the couple up on stage. We should’ve left then, before the dancers sprang out from somewhere and scattered your ashes.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is on the pavement, thinking about the government.

Dodge

Combined their ages were 106; they decided to celebrate their birthdays straight after her youngest sister's wedding in May. They would drive from Boca Grande, Florida all the way to Tampa and hop the first flight to London available. Only a few would be privy to their plan. The mother of the bride and her eldest daughter, whom many despised. They would celebrate the sixties and the end of thirties with the same trials and failures that they marked the twenties, fifties, forties, and tens. The zeros were so distant; neither woman could remember them. "Happy 106, us," they smirked.

From Guest Contributor E.B. Morrison

The Best Of Everything

The translators were the most advanced units available. Miranda had insisted on that. Unfortunately, they hadn't been fully tested yet and were still buggy.

As Miranda waited for what Jergen had said to be translated, she glanced about nervously. It was embarrassing to have all eyes focused on the two of them while they waited for the machine. Perhaps her father had been right, and the old translator would have been the better choice.

But it was her wedding day and she deserved to have the best of everything.

Now the priest was speaking more gibberish. Miranda wanted to cry.

The Prince Of America

The prince lives in a gated estate deep in the Hollywood Hills. The paparazzi shadow him everywhere, heralding his arrivals and departures. His office, now purely ceremonial, still holds the attention of the populace, many of whom harbor secret hope his family will one day be restored.

The prince, despite being quite eligible, has not settled on a bride. His handlers have broached the topic of a reality TV show, a graceless suggestion that has not sat well. Discretion has always been important to the prince.

Also, he likes to sleep around. The prince is a slut. A discrete slut.