The Crasher

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#nEXt (the EX)

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The clouds look fat and cat-like. Like Loui. That bastard scratches anything it hates. I have the scars to show for it.

Like thorns. Roses are red, violets are … not so blue. Why do they say blue? Violets are violet. I crush one between my fingers and it's purple through and through. The sky is blue, your eyes, but nothing one eats is blue. Blueberries are violet. Try to name another item and not one comes to mind. Nothing is blue, not in my heart.

Geese cluck far. They float over the pond with their mates. Everyone deserves one; I tell myself this. The orange sky is clear and warm. A sun, that once burned hot like us, cools down as it sunsets. I still have to squint.

I let those flowers rest on my chest. Like a funeral. A corpse in a casket. But this corpse is anything but dead. I feel fucking alive with a hand behind my head, bent arm, relaxed over the ropes. The swing of the hammock under the leaves of the tree above me—they're still, and I'm the one who sways.

It's a perfect day to ruin a wedding.

Everything is inverse, as it should be—my manners, even more so. It explains why I did it.

I damn well did.

"Edward!"

The echo travels from the hill. That shriek took effort. I look up.

"What the fuck?!" she shouts, murderously, tight fists. That dirty word over that spotless white dress.

I lift myself up on an elbow all lazy to get a better look. I cup a hand over my brows to help. My love in someone else's matrimonial dress; the second half to be wed on a lovely day like this. Then, I came in time.

"We're not done yet. You know it," I yell back.

Her vail behind her has a life of its own. Her hands are empty as I have snatched up the bouquet—back there, before she walked down the aisle. Before she'd ever get a chance to throw it over her head for a sad, single friend at the reception. To grip onto hope. Like I am. I've been gripping for long.

"I want you," I add. "I guess I want Loui, too."

I pick up the flowers. I wave them a little.

She came to find me.

I'll make room for her in this hammock. When everyone figures out this wedding is over, they'll leave. Her and I can have the whole buffet to ourselves.

….

End.

*crossing my fingers for him*