It's a White Wedding
It's A White Wedding
Claudius's knees and elbows sank into the white Florida sand where he lay beneath the white flowering bushes. His eyes trained on the woman in the ivory gown, fifty feet down the beach. Maria was her name. Maria stood across from her groom, who dressed in a traditional suit. The preacher was hidden from sight, behind the husband-to-be. The gathering of people to witness maria's union sat in white, wooden, folding chairs, gazing at the white-capped waves, and fluffy clouds. A Texan uncle sat in the back row, a white Stetson adorning his head. Everything was white. Everything was easily stained.
Claudius's eyes kept wandering and returning to Maria's figure. Not so long ago, he was going to marry her. Not in that creepy way, where he stalked her and made plans for a wedding, without her knowing about it. He went about it properly. He courted her, asked for her hand in marriage, went through all the social conventions. They were engaged for seven months. They planned everything, even sent out the invitations, just for Maria to decide the night before that she wouldn't go through with it. It broke Claudius. His life was split into two sections. Before and After. He was once brilliant, climbing to the top of his field, creating things that could be important. He was a virologist, a scientist studying the evolution of viruses. But after Maria, he couldn't bring himself to do any of the things he did before. He didn't care if he got sick because of his work. Any compassion or passion he had before turned to complete apathy.
Eventually, that apathy gave way to resentment and rage. How could Maria move on without him? How could she be happy again when his life was ruined? He started self-medicating, getting knackered every night. After a month of coming into work late, he was confronted by a colleague of his, a chemist. She asked what was happening to him. His personal problems were severely affecting his work. Claudius feigned interest in making a career change, and asked the chemist how her work was. She explained what she did, and as she saw his portrayed interest in what she was saying, she became more passionate in her speech, making more slips about "top-secret" projects and the like. He asked her if she would teach him about chemical reactions, saying he'd grown rusty over the years. Noting which reactions were particularly violent, he began to formulate his plans. He built a bomb.
The next month, he heard about maria's impending nuptials. He hadn't been invited, but what kind of wedding would it be if one weird ex didn't show up? He camouflaged himself under the cover of bushes and palm trees, and set up his tripod and camera. He rigged his explosive device to detonate two seconds after he took a photograph. Just as the priest was stepping away from the bride, immediately following the big kiss, Claudius took his photograph. Light was everywhere, and everywhere there was light, there was fire. It seemed as if the energy radiated from every atom on the beach. The smell of crisping skin was everywhere, and shrapnel tore through flesh and bone. Some of the shrapnel was engineered to contain a deadly strain of the H7N9 virus that would spread through any survivors, and even through the dead via their coroners. Toothpick sized bits of wood landed on and around Claudius, the only surviving physical evidence linking him to the scene of the crime. He stood up and brushed the splinters from his wind breaker. He looked to the wreckage and smiled, satisfied, as he watched tatters of ivory gossamer glide away on the wind. He pulled his camera from its stand, and looped the strap around his neck. He folded the tripod and stuffed it inside his coat. He found his primer colored 1960's Ford Mustang, and started making his way to Canada, stopping only for sustenance along the way, and at his final destination.
As he arrived at the Canadian motel, bringing his car to a slow stop, he let out a single cough. Everything went exactly as was planned.
Claudius's eyes kept wandering and returning to Maria's figure. Not so long ago, he was going to marry her. Not in that creepy way, where he stalked her and made plans for a wedding, without her knowing about it. He went about it properly. He courted her, asked for her hand in marriage, went through all the social conventions. They were engaged for seven months. They planned everything, even sent out the invitations, just for Maria to decide the night before that she wouldn't go through with it. It broke Claudius. His life was split into two sections. Before and After. He was once brilliant, climbing to the top of his field, creating things that could be important. He was a virologist, a scientist studying the evolution of viruses. But after Maria, he couldn't bring himself to do any of the things he did before. He didn't care if he got sick because of his work. Any compassion or passion he had before turned to complete apathy.
Eventually, that apathy gave way to resentment and rage. How could Maria move on without him? How could she be happy again when his life was ruined? He started self-medicating, getting knackered every night. After a month of coming into work late, he was confronted by a colleague of his, a chemist. She asked what was happening to him. His personal problems were severely affecting his work. Claudius feigned interest in making a career change, and asked the chemist how her work was. She explained what she did, and as she saw his portrayed interest in what she was saying, she became more passionate in her speech, making more slips about "top-secret" projects and the like. He asked her if she would teach him about chemical reactions, saying he'd grown rusty over the years. Noting which reactions were particularly violent, he began to formulate his plans. He built a bomb.
The next month, he heard about maria's impending nuptials. He hadn't been invited, but what kind of wedding would it be if one weird ex didn't show up? He camouflaged himself under the cover of bushes and palm trees, and set up his tripod and camera. He rigged his explosive device to detonate two seconds after he took a photograph. Just as the priest was stepping away from the bride, immediately following the big kiss, Claudius took his photograph. Light was everywhere, and everywhere there was light, there was fire. It seemed as if the energy radiated from every atom on the beach. The smell of crisping skin was everywhere, and shrapnel tore through flesh and bone. Some of the shrapnel was engineered to contain a deadly strain of the H7N9 virus that would spread through any survivors, and even through the dead via their coroners. Toothpick sized bits of wood landed on and around Claudius, the only surviving physical evidence linking him to the scene of the crime. He stood up and brushed the splinters from his wind breaker. He looked to the wreckage and smiled, satisfied, as he watched tatters of ivory gossamer glide away on the wind. He pulled his camera from its stand, and looped the strap around his neck. He folded the tripod and stuffed it inside his coat. He found his primer colored 1960's Ford Mustang, and started making his way to Canada, stopping only for sustenance along the way, and at his final destination.
As he arrived at the Canadian motel, bringing his car to a slow stop, he let out a single cough. Everything went exactly as was planned.