by Helen Chambers

Grey day; warm for the season. ‘If anyone knows any reason…’ intones the priest, hearing the palpable intake of breath. A breeze flutters the feathers, salmon-pink, of the bride’s mother’s hat. Her sneezes ricochet off the ancient church stones. A cough, an embarrassed giggle, a ripple stirs through the congregation. The bride’s father compresses his elastic face into a deeper frown. Fecund and sullen, the swelling bride clasps her groom’s sweaty hand, his ratty moustache too small for his upper lip. The bride’s mother cries harder into her hankie. Silence stretches to snapping point. The priest smiles.

Helen Chambers writes short stories and flash fiction, and lives in the UK. She has an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Essex and won the Fish Short Story prize in 2018. Helen has publications at Potato Soup Journal and Fictive Dream amongst others, and is a LISP Highly Recommended Writer. You can read these and other publications on her blog: helenchamberswriter.wordpress.com