The marriage of Christine Diana Charleston to Rueben Laurence Talbot was a small affair. The ceremony was held in a quaint church on the outskirts of town. The bride, who was of humble looks, was moderately dressed in a simple gown of white with a white veil covering her soft wavy locks. Her father, who had back problems that caused him to stand at a funny angle and rely maybe too heavily on a cane than was good for him, walked in a slow shuffle to hand away his only daughter. But even with the help of his wooden cane and his daughter's arm, he walked slowly, hunched over in much pain. In fact they walked so slowly that the organist, who had already played through the Wedding March twice, had stopped to cast her own look of pity upon the bride and her father. Now the only sound in the entirety if the church was the thump of the cane and slow shuffle of the father of the bride's heavy feet as he shuffled.
The fifty or so guests who had attended, family and friends of the Charleston's and Talbot's, sat perfectly still in the silence. Some pitied the bride and her groom, some worried over the old man's health and some wondered whether the ceremony would end in time for them to still get to a bar in time for a drink before they closed and they were forced to go home without the needed buzz of the alcohol that they needed to face the night and next day.
But one attendee thought none of these things. He stood in the shadows of the rafters watching the procession with a weary eye. He took in the colors of the people seated below. They were dressed in beautiful colors, some dressed more richly than others. But none of them could outdo the simple beauty of the bride whose concern for her father and excitement for her approaching vows lit up her eyes, and, he thought, the whole church. The light of her eyes could have easily out done all the candles in the room.
He loved weddings.
Christine turned her look of warmth and love upon her groom. Rueben smiled at the vision of purity and love and she seemed to glide up the aisle even with the encumbrance of her father. Upon reaching the waiting groom, Mr. Charleston handed over his daughter and the groom possessively tucked her arm in his. They walked the next steps to the vicar together. The vicar who was as old as Mr. Charleston, and a good amount of years that was, shuffled through the pages of the book he held before him. But since the poor man was a blind as Mr. Charleston was crippled, he settled upon a random page and started to recite the ceremony from memory.
"Dearly beloved…"
The man in the shadows watched in envy as the two looked at each other with such love. How he longed for someone to look upon him in that manner. But alas, it would never be. He wanted to kill the groom just for that. Because this man – just another faceless groom – had what he would never possess. Friends and family surrounding him and women who looked at him as thought he was the only person in the world. His envy was almost all consuming. But he had felt this way before. Hell, he admitted, he always felt like this when he attended a wedding. Why did he subject himself to these feelings? It just simply wasn't fair.
He hated weddings.
He hated the love in the room that would never be his. He hated the family and friends who watched because he would never have those. He thought sourly of what his own wedding would be like, held in the dark of night with not even a dozen people in attendance.
The couple kissed and the vicar introduced the new Mr. And Mrs. Talbot.
But who were they to him? Nobodies.
Nobodies who had everything he could ever want.
As the crowd cheered the man in rafters disappeared from the sight.