Page 2 of Hell Breaks Loose

Like the way I know how to dial a phone.

Or drive a car.

Even if I don’t remember learning how.

Salt and pepper must be the groom. Not sure who would want to marry that shark-eyed killer.

Something in the way he stands lets me know without a doubt that he’s trouble. That he’s taken lives.

And with the juxtaposition of the heavenly excess around me and the desolate hell out there, I wonder if he’s the cause of this town’s slow death.

Guests take their seats, but the joy is strained.

Fear tinges the mood, souring the explosion of color, tapestries, and carefully carved hedges. Like some macabre theater performance.

Until the music lulls, pauses, then begins a new song.

Every head turns, back toward the house beneath me. To the focal point of this nauseating affair.

When she emerges from the shadow of the overhang, everything else fades.

Nothing else could possibly compare to her.

She’s resplendent, even though her dress is black, the crowning jewel of this sick celebration, more a funeral than the birth of any future worth living.

Solitary.

Forlorn.

And I cannot look away.

Nothing else matters but the slow progression of her swaying gown, the purposeful, agonizing footsteps toward the dais, a heinous fate. Yet her face is porcelain, cold and vacant. She’s a statue etched of marble, perfect alabaster.

Capturing the deepest sadness.

The despondent angel in black approaches the stage.

Still, she remains aloof.

I don’t dare take my eyes from her as she marches to her gallows. The processional stops as she reaches her place, turns, never blinking, never faltering. She could end me with a word.

But she says nothing.

Neither does she look at the man across from her.

Words echo in the hollow silence. Words said a million, billion times across the world, across time. But never have they rung so empty.

Compared to the vows of the leering, black-eyed groom, they are a clarion song. His voice clips out, strong. Arrogant.

“This day marks the dawn of an empire. The joining of power. Of fate. Today, I take this vow. I swear on every drop of blood spilled along my journey. In exchange for what you give me now, symbolized in your hand, in your heart, I promise to give you more than you can ever imagine, a legacy that will echo your name for generations to come. What love we lack will come in time.”

The woman smiles without a hint of happiness.

“You will join me. You will be my queen. And together, we will change the world.”

As the sound rings out, fading to another tense respite, a single drop of rain strikes my hand. Shocking. Cold.

“Quickly. Now,” the groom barks, glancing at the first spots striking the stage.

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