It had all been a dream, thank God. A nightmare. That sickening moment of revelation; the horror on Julie’s face; the vicar standing there opened mouthed; two hundred eyes burning into me with anger, disappointment, hatred...
The image faded. My head was killing me, but a headache I could live with. I couldn't live without Julie. And I wouldn't have to. As the horror of our wedding vanished, I closed my eyes, and I drifted through the dark, peaceful realm between dreams and reality, I knew my secret was safe.
But suddenly, my reverie was torn apart and the bright lights of the crowded church savaged their way back into my eyes.
And I awoke again with a sharp in-breath, but this time I smelled blood. I struggled to raise my exploding head from the cold steps, and helplessly, desperately trying to find words, I looked up at Julie... The anger in her eyes hurt me more than the wound on my head. She just dropped the brass candlestick, and walked away from me, back up the aisle. The relief, the inner peace? That had all been a dream.
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@Antony
Born in 1971 in Thatcham, Berkshire, I've been a teacher for 18 years and now live, teach, write, paint and rant in sunny North Yorkshire. If you're strange enough to want to know more about me, please visit www.antonywootten.co.uk. Cheers! [Disclaimer!! I often write for children, but not everything I've posted here is suitable for a child audience. Parents, please monitor what your child reads!]
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