The Pleasure of Your Company
fiction by Colin McGowan
Over westward steelworks sizzling like diner flattop griddles the setting star’s glare pours through arches of summer flowers and falls as bloodsplatter across the first few rows of waiting guests.
“George Harrison sang…” Katie says, commencing the ceremony.
The rest burns up in transit, a void encased in the soft exterior ksssshhhh of an out-of-range radio message. Below the pavilion balcony a youth group does exercises in the sand. The kids spin and hurl and catch one another, stumble and fall and laugh and go again. The big lake beyond them churns into sudden white peaks.
“You may kiss,” Katie says. A back-row ukelele strikes up “Here Comes The Sun.” Momentary confusion after the bride and groom exit. There was no rehearsal. I lock elbows with an uncle and we sally down the aisle.
Keep us breathing fire!
For $3/month you can read this whole post and get our weekdaily newsletter too!