Isabelle swung gently back and forth on the porch in front of her family's great southern home. Her feet curled up on the bench swing, she seemed to move back and forth with only the night's mild breeze. She was alone in the darkness of the warm night. Her family sat together inside, but she preferred to be solitary at times like these.
Isabelle was not an attractive young girl. Not in the slightest. At fifteen she seemed to have taken all of the unattractive aspects of a teenage complexion and blended it with the features of a woman five times her age. She was not tall, standing just under five feet, and neither was she thin. The coveted hourglass figure seemed to work in the opposite with her. Narrow at the top and bottom and wide in the middle. Of course young Isabelle didn't care in the slightest. She was, in fact, quite proud of her appearance, as was her family.
It was five til midnight. She knew the time even without the benefit of a clock or pocket watch. Especially tonight. She knew down to the second.
She thought of Marcel, as she had been all evening. What a splendid young man he was. Very attractive, leading scorer on the basketball team, unquestionable popular, and a fine family with plenty of brothers and sisters. Undoubtedly one of the town's finest.
She watched him through her mind's eye as he sat on the railing of the bridge. "Suicide Bride" they called it. She watched as he struggled with his overwhelmed emotions. Distressed to the point of panic at the thought of her not showing up. It was always midnight when then jumped. That was her signature. A difficult feature to the charm, but one she thought well worth the effort.
Marcel would be her fourth. A very respectable number for one so young. She turned her thoughts again to Marcel, struggling and suffering in the final minute before midnight. When all of the emotions and suffering peak. A distress so profound that the only cure was to drown it in the dark waters below.
She watched as the seconds ticked down and then he stepped, twirled and fell back, head over heels into the sweet Savannah River. All meticulously orchestrated down to the final last detail.
A sudden gust of wind trapped the flowers and tossed them gently across the road. The only evidence that Marcel was on the bridge that evening at all.
Isabelle smiled warmly, happily nodding off for a nap after a such a wonderful evening.
No comments:
Post a Comment