This Tragic Affair
Non Existent
The heat from the fire sent her cheeks burning and made her eyes water. But her heart ached so much that this superficial pain felt like nothing. Her mind couldn't come to say what had happened. She was a vegetable roasting in a fire, unable to move, and unable to acknowledge the existence of her life.
Monique could hear her parents' husky voices behind the slow crackling of the fire. She hugged her knees close, burying her face and avoiding any interaction from anyone. She continued to tell herself it was a dream - any minute she would wake up from her bachelorette party and begin to get ready to marry the love of her life.
"Monique?" The pressue from her mother's gentle touch was barely enough to wake Monique from her blank thoughts.
She pretended she couldn't hear her. She felt as though she was wallowing in a pit of denial. Why couldn't she cry? Or grieve? Do something other than refuse to accept anything?
Her mother crouched down on the carpet beside her. Her soft breath tickled Monique's cheek, a strange feeling in comparison to the almost stifling heat from the fire. "You can't stay like this forever," she said softly, wrapping an arm around Monique's hunched shoulders. "You should go have a shower and I'll make you a coffee."
Monique shook her head, forcing herself to keep her face hidden. Her mother persisted nonetheless, taking Monique's hand and pulling her up.
Her mother sighed. "You're a mess," she murmured, stroking Monique's dark red locks with delicate fingers. Monique remained still, her eyes locked with the glow from the fiery pit.
"Come on," her mother said in the same soft voice, leading Monique upstairs to the bathroom.
Monique did not respond to her mother's constant attempts at conversation. Instead she walked in a miserable daze, her feet dragging along the soft carpet behind her. Monique's mind continued to remain uselessly empty.
She soon found herself in the small bathroom. The tiles were familiar from her childhood, every little pattern seeming to jump out from faded memories. Monique's mother pressed towels into her arms, momentarily disturbing Monique's thoughts.
"You'll be right, Monique?"
Of course she wouldn't be alright any time soon. Her fiance died while walking up the aisle. But despite this, a twenty five year old woman could shower on her own.
Monique merely nodded, turning to face her horrid reflection while her mother left.
She refused to get out of her stained wedding gown. Covered in a mixture os ash and blood, the dress served no purpose. All it was was an ugly reminder of something so incredibly horrific. Monique thought about how much fuss had been made over the dress - how it just had to look perfect. But now it had been reduced to nothing.
Monique stepped into the hot cloud of steam and water, slowly soaking every drop of pain through her dull skin. She didn't remove the dress, no matter how painful it was to wear. She crouched down on the slippery tiles, leaning against the wall and allowing herself to drown in the water.
Soon tears began to slide down her face, mingling in with the steamy fountain of water that poured from above. Her tears were full of something different and weren't just water, making them easily distinguishable...
Daniel's body was at the morgue. Being torn apart and shred to pieces, being mutilated and damaged just to find who did it. To find the person who stabbed him repeatedly in the chest, ending the life of someone so unbelievably perfect in her eyes.
To find the person who with the flash of a knife shredded Monique's life to shreds.
As if someone had just stabbed her in the chest, Monique felt something. Not emptiness or shock. But cold, icy pain. And yet the object stabbing her repeatedly was not a knife. It was an icy dagger full of Daniel, and their now shattered lives.
For not the first time that day, Monique began to scream.
Monique could hear her parents' husky voices behind the slow crackling of the fire. She hugged her knees close, burying her face and avoiding any interaction from anyone. She continued to tell herself it was a dream - any minute she would wake up from her bachelorette party and begin to get ready to marry the love of her life.
"Monique?" The pressue from her mother's gentle touch was barely enough to wake Monique from her blank thoughts.
She pretended she couldn't hear her. She felt as though she was wallowing in a pit of denial. Why couldn't she cry? Or grieve? Do something other than refuse to accept anything?
Her mother crouched down on the carpet beside her. Her soft breath tickled Monique's cheek, a strange feeling in comparison to the almost stifling heat from the fire. "You can't stay like this forever," she said softly, wrapping an arm around Monique's hunched shoulders. "You should go have a shower and I'll make you a coffee."
Monique shook her head, forcing herself to keep her face hidden. Her mother persisted nonetheless, taking Monique's hand and pulling her up.
Her mother sighed. "You're a mess," she murmured, stroking Monique's dark red locks with delicate fingers. Monique remained still, her eyes locked with the glow from the fiery pit.
"Come on," her mother said in the same soft voice, leading Monique upstairs to the bathroom.
Monique did not respond to her mother's constant attempts at conversation. Instead she walked in a miserable daze, her feet dragging along the soft carpet behind her. Monique's mind continued to remain uselessly empty.
She soon found herself in the small bathroom. The tiles were familiar from her childhood, every little pattern seeming to jump out from faded memories. Monique's mother pressed towels into her arms, momentarily disturbing Monique's thoughts.
"You'll be right, Monique?"
Of course she wouldn't be alright any time soon. Her fiance died while walking up the aisle. But despite this, a twenty five year old woman could shower on her own.
Monique merely nodded, turning to face her horrid reflection while her mother left.
She refused to get out of her stained wedding gown. Covered in a mixture os ash and blood, the dress served no purpose. All it was was an ugly reminder of something so incredibly horrific. Monique thought about how much fuss had been made over the dress - how it just had to look perfect. But now it had been reduced to nothing.
Monique stepped into the hot cloud of steam and water, slowly soaking every drop of pain through her dull skin. She didn't remove the dress, no matter how painful it was to wear. She crouched down on the slippery tiles, leaning against the wall and allowing herself to drown in the water.
Soon tears began to slide down her face, mingling in with the steamy fountain of water that poured from above. Her tears were full of something different and weren't just water, making them easily distinguishable...
Daniel's body was at the morgue. Being torn apart and shred to pieces, being mutilated and damaged just to find who did it. To find the person who stabbed him repeatedly in the chest, ending the life of someone so unbelievably perfect in her eyes.
To find the person who with the flash of a knife shredded Monique's life to shreds.
As if someone had just stabbed her in the chest, Monique felt something. Not emptiness or shock. But cold, icy pain. And yet the object stabbing her repeatedly was not a knife. It was an icy dagger full of Daniel, and their now shattered lives.
For not the first time that day, Monique began to scream.