Phishing
4/28/2015, 6:50pm
She had done it.. She had chickened out, which she knew she would. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to her sister or the rest of the family, either. It was all a question of when she would chicken out - before the ceremony or after. Raegan felt a chunky crumb of pride that she might have surprised them at least a little bit by ducking out in the middle of the ceremony. After all, she hated that her sister always got to steal the show. And it wasn't that Raegan hated the limelight, like her father suggested, but that the light never shown for herself.
Her lattice pink leather flats clunked against the wood of the docks. Her silken hair bow had gotten caught on a low branch a ways back when her foot almost got wedged between two rocks. She almost abandoned the stupidly uncomfortable shoes back then, but what kind of person would she be to give up on anything now when she'd insisted upon herself to come this far?
The fluffy layers of cream organza whipped around her knees. It would surely weigh her down if she actually followed through on the stupid half-baked plan she was aiming for at the end of the dock. Cream was a weighty color anyway, certainly unfit for bridesmaids. Who picks mint for their wedding dress anyway?
Raegan could vividly recall the moment her mother saw the green monstrousity. It was the shade of green that matched only the sick-inducing slice of chocolate mint pie she had at Baker's once; it had made her mouth salivate so uncontrollably, and just the memory of her hours spent in the restroom afterward had almost brought the contents of her stomach out in a splatter on the horrid dress before her. It was truly awful, and only something so truly awful could be picked by her sister for her wedding day. Raegan would even go so far as to say that for once, in the entire history of weddings, the bridesmaids were slated to look more beautiful than the bride. And for a woman who often showed how much better a prize she had won in the beauty gene pool, being less attractive than Raegan was a worm of miracle that had rarely befallen her sister. And Raegan devoured that very thought.
Her left shoe clumsily slipped off into a hole in the wood and tumbled toward the water waiting below the dock. Another clunk in the bucket, she thought. She stopped to peel off the other shoe and chuck it into the harbor to find it's mate, then sped to run the last few feet to the end of the dock and split the cool water with her body. Her first stop: the mainland.
Her lattice pink leather flats clunked against the wood of the docks. Her silken hair bow had gotten caught on a low branch a ways back when her foot almost got wedged between two rocks. She almost abandoned the stupidly uncomfortable shoes back then, but what kind of person would she be to give up on anything now when she'd insisted upon herself to come this far?
The fluffy layers of cream organza whipped around her knees. It would surely weigh her down if she actually followed through on the stupid half-baked plan she was aiming for at the end of the dock. Cream was a weighty color anyway, certainly unfit for bridesmaids. Who picks mint for their wedding dress anyway?
Raegan could vividly recall the moment her mother saw the green monstrousity. It was the shade of green that matched only the sick-inducing slice of chocolate mint pie she had at Baker's once; it had made her mouth salivate so uncontrollably, and just the memory of her hours spent in the restroom afterward had almost brought the contents of her stomach out in a splatter on the horrid dress before her. It was truly awful, and only something so truly awful could be picked by her sister for her wedding day. Raegan would even go so far as to say that for once, in the entire history of weddings, the bridesmaids were slated to look more beautiful than the bride. And for a woman who often showed how much better a prize she had won in the beauty gene pool, being less attractive than Raegan was a worm of miracle that had rarely befallen her sister. And Raegan devoured that very thought.
Her left shoe clumsily slipped off into a hole in the wood and tumbled toward the water waiting below the dock. Another clunk in the bucket, she thought. She stopped to peel off the other shoe and chuck it into the harbor to find it's mate, then sped to run the last few feet to the end of the dock and split the cool water with her body. Her first stop: the mainland.