The Horrid Cries of the Bride

By , Westbrook, CT
As I am the grand eyes above the heavenly clouds, it has been generations that I have had to overlook some of the most disturbing changes in human actions. As grey structural buildings and weak hearts have been brought into my world, there is one particular part of life that remains to lose its moral value. Love, that is, what has happened to the depth and sureness in love? I have seen that these people beneath my forgotten eyes have misinterpreted the beautiful value of love, and when they do such a thing, an unpredictable madness is born. There is this one couple- along with their sins, which I could never accept. In this case, there was a desperate poor man and a desperate rich woman. He, whom sought to leech money off of whatever human blood he could find, satisfied his dream by marrying an upper-class and rather headstrong woman who thought it was for love. She was regrettably mistaken.
Just three months after Rodger proposed to Rosanne is when the horrid cries of the bride were first heard. Rosanne’s love had been so profound and immense, that the withdrawal effect of the feeling would be as cold as that from the devil’s drug. The soon-to-be happily engaged couple, living among the rural, dirt-paved roads of New Mexico, set the date of the wedding quite eagerly. However, instead of announcing the marital news to their friends and family, the occasion was oddly booked for June 13th, 2012 beforehand. Sometimes, the human society, especially with the madness of love, tends to rush into things with much ignorance and rapid pace. In other words, decisions have been made that no one is capable of rewinding. The power to control the past is out of one’s hands.

It was the night before the big day- the wedding, that is. In order to enable themselves with even more excitement, Rodger and Rosanne had rented different rooms in different hotels. While all Rosanne could think about was her beloved, the heartthrob man had been somewhere else, doing something rather betraying. Just as Rosanne was admiringly stroking the mahogany frame around the image of her fiancée, she spotted Rodger’s wedding band on her nightstand. He had accidentally left behind. As an excuse to peek at her soon-to-be husband, she ran over to the hotel next door, were he had been staying. It was approximately 11:48 PM when Rosanne’s heart had been twisted and wrung out; her emotions for Rodger ran silently down the drain. She had opened the door to something she had never expected in a million years: Rodger, in contact with another lover who appeared to be in a silky white gown that glistened like the morning sun. Rosanne’s eyes had no reaction what so ever, just motionless, like the eye on the back of the American dollar bill. But inside, Rosanne’s heart had been crying through it all.

Rodger stumbled over his words. “Ros-anne, it’s not what it looks like.” Rosanne knew exactly what she had seen, and stumbled her way back to her hotel alone. She spent the next three hours sitting staring at her reflection in the hotel mirror, which only triggered more black tears to smear upon her face. The mahogany frame displaying her fiancé, trembling in the palms of her shaken hands, had contaminated her emotions even more. Then suddenly, the burst of the horrid cries were released. Psychotic moans and screaming cries had certainly disturbed the passing hotel employees, yet nothing had been reported. The witnesses had just uncomfortably walked on by, shook their heads and selfishly moved along with their own lives.

There is always some madness in love, but there is also some reason in madness. Unfortunately, the support to cure this emotional and brain-washing infection is not always there when needed. In love, the sudden drop from being in the most gratifying state of emotion is known to commonly fall back down to an even more distressing level than where it had first begun. Just like a stimulant drug that has been mixed with a sedative, the feeling causes your heart to stop. This is why the withdrawal effect is indeed, as cold as that from the devil’s drug.
This mixture of unsure feelings led her to an insane reaction. Irrational thoughts were flying through Rosanne’s senseless head, think of life in a delusional way. Nothing made sense as to why this tragedy had happened, except the role of revenge that Rosanne had begun to plan for. Her mentally deranged mind ordered her to grab her knife that was supposed to be used for emergency purposes only. She sat at the edge of her bed and sharpened the blade with the stone that she had mysteriously brought along. Rosanne spent a full thirty minutes preparing this knife at a precise angle, so it would be at its most damaging capability. As each side of the blade distinctly made a sharper threat, Rosanne murmured words of her mad obsession. Rocking back and forth in an eager pace, she talked to herself in a disturbing manner. There was a sudden pause and the eerie sharpening had stopped; Rosanne rose to a gradual stand and headed for the door. From there she headed across the street to the next hotel, with her knife, her plan, and there was no turning back.
“Knock knock…” Rosanne spoke in an unearthly tone.
“Who is it?” responded Rodger curiously.
“It’s your beloved Rosanne, silly boy.” As Rosanne strangely stood behind the door, Rodger open the door slowly, and it eeked open until his face shown.
“Rosanne, my dear- it was not what you thought, I was just trying to help her untie her knot in her-“
But Rosanne interrupted calmly. “Shhh…” she held her finger gently against his tense, warm-fleshed skin. Her finger was as cold as if she had passed away long ago. Rosanne hinted a problematic warning- “Everything will be alright; there is no time to worry.”
“Rosanne, are you alright?” Rodger responded in a perturbed tone. Rosanne whispered into his ear in a noble manner-
“I love you.”
“I, I-“ Rodger never had the chance to admit his feelings for Medusa. All that was heard was his final breath until his life was silently and painfully, but smoothly taken away. Rodger’s helpless body fell in disgrace to the floor with a distinct clunk. There was a depraved message left on the floor of the hotel; three daunting words traced unnaturally into the blood: I love you





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