So... Apparently Plinky wants me to get romantic today. Write a passage in the style of a romance novel. Little do they know that that is my most fluent genre... Possibly it is my only genre - I can't say anything else appeals to me - unless of course I can read romance into it :P. This isn't to say this will be a work of art but hey... should be fun.
Sarah stared at the distorted reflection of an elegant and distinctly feminine woman in stained glass panelling of the church. I can't believe she's making me wear this, she thought as her hand sub-consciously worried the loose curls which brushed across her shoulders.
She was much more at home in a pair of overalls, her hair locked tight against her skull. It was more convenient, more comfortable. She was a mechanic by trade and to be perfectly honest she would much rather be checking beneath the hood of the mustang they'd arrived at the church in than preparing to walk down that aisle. Thank God there was nobody from her normal life around to see her today.
Now it seemed everything was ready for the bridesmaids. Except for the dress, this is was straight-forward enough, Jessie first, then Sarah and finally their father and Olivia. As Sarah moved to her position she was reminded that the dress wasn't the only thing she didn't normally wear.
'Dammit Olivia, but these shoes are going to kill me before the day is through.' She attempted in hushed tones to break the nervous tension that was building around the bride.
'Sarah. Think of it this way if you trip and fall on your arse its not your wedding you ruin.'
Still, Sarah crossed her fingers to herself as she took the first step. And the second. The slow procession time made this shoe thing pretty easy. After a metre of two she was into the rhythm enough to look around discretely at the family, the groom, the groomsman...
Woah. What was he doing here? What was he doing here as THE BEST MAN? How was he in any way connected to Olivia's about-to-be husband Matthew?
"Wow--even on my wedding day, this is pretty cool!"
Sarah tried to convince herself to breathe. How could Matt's big brother Jonno and Jonathan P. Walters the third or the three-hundred and second of whatever retarded number he had after his name be one and the same?
Sarah admitted she had been a little bit taken by him the first couple of times they had met. Until he had made the move, and she unwittingly had fallen for it. Who knew that could be a bad thing? Suddenly he'd gone from this nice, attractive man to a man-eating businessman with nothi...
Sarah felt herself starting to topple. Its funny how in these situations time always slows down to a crawl as though it doesn't want you to miss a single second. Staring at the small step at the front of the church she couldn't help but curse inwardly that she had gotten so close to making it.
Unfortunately there had been no magical gust of wind or man's arms to appear from nowhere and save her. She hit the deck, and hit the deck hard, most would claim it had been the most complete face-plant they had seen in a while.
She was still regaining her wits when she felt strong arms reaching out to right her. Unfortunately she knew those arms. Fast enough to inflict whiplash on top of all her other injuries her head snapped around to death stare her would-be helper. Only she got distracted by the compassion in his eyes and the hint of a smile on his lips...
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