Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, promising to love and cherish, through joy and sorrow, sickness and health, and whatever challenges you may face, for as long as you both shall live?”, the minister said his deep bass voice bouncing off the walls of the church like wave threatening to drown me.
I turned to look for you, and there you were, perched at the edge of your seat, whispering the word “I do” under your breathe with a smile as if to urge me on.
” I…Do”, I said a little too quietly, but the minister continued.
The rest of the wedding stretched on forever, with laughs and congratulations and kisses I can barely remember.
Mynew husband, the one you choose for me, held me tightly in what seemed like a loving caress.
On my honeymoon you were there, like you’ve always been, laughing and being the perfect gentleman,with me being the pawn in your latest scheme..again.
I loved you, I always have, and I always will; but you’ve brought me nothing but pain and misery.
I eavesdropped on you and my husband, an aging, fragile septuagenarian, make scathing comments about me before settling down to business for which I was the exchange.
1:00am in the morning, I sashayed into your room, clad in nothing but your favorite lingerie, with my face bare and innocent, just as you love it.
You smiled your predatory smile, and tried to grab for me.
“No, I want it out there, on the beach”..I whispered as seductive as possible, moving away into the hall, towards the beach.
You followed, as I know you would and made to grab me again and this time.. I let you. “Why can’t you ever be gentle?”, I wondered.
You dived into the feast that was me, and No, you didn’t see it coming, the knife plunged into the base of your neck until it was buried to the hilt. “The last supper, served”.
You staggered back, with a look of dismay disrupting your fine features, and feel to your knees before me.
Yes, worship me with your dying breath, and I may forgive your trespasses. I watched you struggle, blood spurting from your neck, unable to speak, just as you have shut me up my whole Life.
Finally, you fell, dead.
I laid you on the floor as if in homage to the night sky, took the knife from your neck and plunged it into your stomach, drawing it first up to your shoulder blade and then down to your pelvis, and filled it up with rocks I gathered just for this moment.
I gave you one last kiss in farewell and dragged your body into the Ocean, as far as I could go.
I watched you sink, the cut to your gut ensuring gas does not accumulate in your stomach to make you float again, ever.
I swam, in the ocean reddened by your blood, my own baptism, and went back to bed beside my husband, who by the way, has a gunshot wound point blank on his forehead.
For the first time in forever, I slept peacefully, remembering you as you once were.
People always say, “you never forget your first Love”, True.
I’ll never forget the look on your face as you sank to the bottom of your watery grave or the feeling of freedom that came with it.
To you: My First Love.
What do you think?