Wedding

“By the powers given to me, I pronounce you man and wife.”

And with that, the ceremony ends; I can only be grateful that there was no kissing going on. The music shifts to a trilling of flutes and vibrato-less violins. The crowd lurches to their feet, and I, admittedly, have no idea what's going on. I stare as if I’m a statue, and, before I realize anything’s happening, a pair of arms reaches around me and in a bear hug that nearly forces my stomach out of my mouth. I close my eyes in terror, as I am jerked up into the air on my back.



When I finally dare to open my eyes, I see an aquiline face with eyes as deep and brown as liquid chocolate. But as I keep staring, they fade into a dark, translucent blue green. The face itself then shifts, and the arms that stretch around me are flabby jelly.



“Patrick?”



His lips twist into a demented smirk, and his identity changes again. The face, which I don’t seem to recognize, leans in closer to mine, and as the mouth parts slightly, I realize what’s going to happen. Some sick combination of rage and terror forces my eyes open, and I can’t close them even when I try. 



The faces blend into each other: I see a glimpse of others that I think I might have known. The image changes before I can make sense of it, each of these features combining into a solid stream of trauma for my brain. I can almost feel my cognitive abilities shutting down, one by one. First, I lose all the feeling in my limbs. Then, I can no longer hear or see anything, and the world swirls around that singular patch of clarity. My heart is beating so quickly that it could belong to a rabbit.



Somehow, I will my arms to come up to shield my face as a last-ditch defense. Those lips, as red as the blood that pumps underneath that fragile skin, break through my fragile shield, and press into mine. I recoil backwards at the sensation, before a burst of anger takes me almost by surprise.



Then, I blindly scratch at the face, feeling something like joy as my nails tear through the fragile skin, revealing the pink flesh underneath. My fingernails catch on something after a few attempts, and I see something that I recognize clearly - a pair of glasses. But my hands don’t seem to take this in. They rip off the offending metal frames and hurl them on the ground, before continuing on their savage mission.



But I know who it is.



There’s no way that I wouldn’t.



Even in this state, I can see him clearly - too clearly… I can see every inch of quickly disappearing skin and the pink softness they hide. I can see those eyes boring into mine, with that spring green hue taking over everything that I see. And the blood that streams down the face is no accident either - it stains my fingers and runs down my arms to the carpet.



Still my hands continue. 

Almost as if possessed.



Quickly, I fall, almost float, to the ground. The arms must’ve lost their strength at last. Unprepared, I am unable to stop my descent. Yet, at the same time, I see myself do an inhuman backflip before landing on my feet and launching myself at the man, with teeth bared and nails at the ready. Through this strange double-sight, I see both the ceiling, covered in peeling golden stars and a half broken statue of some deity, and the man I am attacking.



He does nothing to protect himself, instead holding both arms stiffly at his side. “No!” I scream with all my might because I know why. Fresh blood and now strips of flesh appear on my fingertips and as they, ever so slowly, eat up the clean white fabric of my gown, I see that the man is now hardly more than a walking zombie.



The crowd has faded into spectators, and as the man looks at me fully in the face, I see cords of muscle, and a glimpse of white bone. His beautiful green eyes have been gouged out long since, and two streams of blood flow from his sockets. Red-brown hair is now more crimson than anything else, and yet he refuses to move.



The other-me takes full advantage of this.



With one last, resounding crack, she breaks his neck and somehow his head rolls to the side of my body. I stare at it, and can’t help but reach one finger towards that hair and stroke it once. It’s not worth it - the silky softness that I used to admire is now so caked with blood that my skin crawls.



The other-me then smiles at me before she fades from existence.



The man’s body slumps and falls to the ground, and somehow that breaks the brief reverie. The crowd has gotten to their feet, all of them. They are now armed with pitchforks and torches, and each of them wears the same tears of blood.



“Kill.”



“Revenge.”



“Murder.”



“Kill.”



“I didn’t mean to kill you!” I plead in their direction, but still they come, a stream of hatred directed at me. “I didn’t! It wasn’t me! I’m telling you, it wasn’t me!” They still come, their feet marching to a slow and steady beat. I can’t do anything as they fall on me like wolves to prey.



I don’t feel it even when they rip me from piece to piece. Not even when they start using their teeth. Not even when there is nothing but red, and all of it mine. I don’t feel a thing. I don’t see a thing either, I just know. I just know that somehow I’ve destroyed the one person who was my friend, and now he hates me too.

Forgive me…



…