Nuptials

It was a shame about Lily’s wedding,

it really was.

Everything was just perfect,

like out of a magazine.

The ceremony was in the rose garden

of the old MacMillan mansion,

and the guests were surrounded

by pastel blooms of pink, yellow, white, peach,

and the air was heavily perfumed

with their aroma.

There was only one stray puffy white cloud

in the bright blue sky.

A slight breeze tickled the backs of the guests’ necks

as a string quartet started to play,

and the children,

adorably dressed in their Sunday finest,

were quiet as the bridal march began.

Tom, the groom, waited expectantly at the altar

as groomsmen ushered blushing bridesmaids

in lilac gowns down the aisle.

The maid of honor was next,

confident she would be the next bride

in a year or two.

Guests oohed at the toddling ring bearer

and flower girl,

who briefly paused in their journey

to take everything in

but were ushered along by anxious mothers.

Finally,

the moment everyone had waited for.

Everyone turned in their seats and craned their necks

to catch a glimpse of the radiant bride,

holding her weeping father’s tuxedoed arm.

The groom beamed,

and the violins swelled,

as the first fiery meteor fell from the sky

and crashed into the gazebo just behind the altar.

The hushed silence was shattered

by panicked screams.

The white gazebo reduced now

to flaming, smoking ruins.

But more meteors were crashing to the ground,

as though they had been thrown

like confetti from a malicious god.

“Run!” a man shouted, “Run into the house!”

He pointed at the Old MacMillan mansion,

where the reception was to be held.

Screaming people covered their heads,

picked up their small children,

and ran to shelter.

The mansion’s roof had already

taken a minor hit,

but it remained a sturdy refuge

for all those present.

“See, they don’t build things like they used to,”

Uncle Anthony remarked

in a moment of silence.

Miraculously,

no one at the wedding

was injured,

apart from the cello player,

who had fallen and twisted his ankle

and Tom’s twelve-year-old cousin, Joshua,

who had an asthma attack.

The bombardment of the city ended

maybe fifteen minutes later,

but by then, Lily’s wedding

had long been forgotten,

and the guests stumbled home in shock

to see what damage had been wreaked

randomly upon their homes.

In the chaos,

Lily and Tom actually did not

exchange vows.

They did so two weeks later

at the courthouse,

with just a few family members present.

And Lily always said that

it was just as nice

as the original wedding,

but, of course, that was complete nonsense.

“Just wait til the honeymoon!”

her father joked.

Everyone laughed,

so he repeated it

at least once a year

for the rest of his life.