New year, new me. This is the year I get started all over again with creative writing. Here is my first offering.
A story, a really short one, for I struggled to find the words to do justice to the emotion in this one. The concept is one I feel passionate about, so I was not ready to abandon my New Bride just yet.
I stand gazing at the henna on my hands. The new bride.
The delicate patterns have me under their spell. I am mesmerised by the dark brown and orange that adorns my pale skin. So vibrant just a few days ago. Now but a fading memory, an unsightly reminder of what has been.
My bridal finery lies in disarray at the foot of my bed. The jewellery that came at too high a price. The heavy silk saree with its auspicious motifs. Red bleeding into gold.
How will I survive under that weight? Bedecked from head to toe in glittering jewels, I bore my burden with a smile. This was, after all, my wedding day. I must be happy.
I was marrying the man of my dreams. The stranger my parents chose for me. The man I first saw when I raised my shy head to wed him. That was how it was always done, always will be.
Not long now before they come for him. My husband of a few hours, the man who chose to make me his wife. The man who now lies lifeless surrounded by his family.
And me? Widowed in the prime of my life. The new bride.