Ross loved his wife more than life itself and didn’t believe anything could separate them or diminish his love. He made that clear at their wedding.
“I, Ross take you Josephine, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death . . . no, not even death can part us.”
Family and friends in the audience awed at his declaration. Josephine blushed, her rosy cheeks radiating behind her white veil. Even the minister smiled sweetly, putting his hand over his heart.
It was a beautiful ceremony, and everyone believed Ross and Josephine were the perfect, happy couple. But there was something deeply troubling about Ross’ love. He had been married twice before, and previous wives crashed the reception to warn Josephine of his obsession with proving that death would never separate him from his bride. They showed Josephine scars, bruises, permanent rope burns around their necks. Ushers dismissed the battered women, and Josephine intertwine her arm with her husband’s and poured Pinot Noir from a crystal glass down his throat, kissing his red lips as if nothing had disturbed their euphoric day.
That night, Ross slit his bride’s throat. He swooped her into his arms, and carried her to their bed where he consummated their marriage, licking the blood from her neck as if she were still blissfully pouring the Pinot Noir into his mouth.
This is in response to Sunday Photo Fiction: write a story in around 200 words, using the provided photo as inspiration. Click the froggy icon to read other stories and add your own.