The Weeping Bride


It's not a wedding dress, write the story.

I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but I was just too nervous. Turning my eyes back to the game on my tablet, I tried to avoid looking back up, but I couldn’t resist one last peek. She was sat opposite and a bit further down, head buried in her hands and crying softly.

Her blonde hair was nicely done up, but some strands had come loose. Her white dress was crumpled around her and whilst some was hitched up over her lap, the rest flowed across the floor trailing around her. The gowned was water and mud stained, almost as if she had ran for the train not caring anymore and just wanting to get away. She reminded me of Cinderella fleeing from the ball and trying to get home before midnight.

Coughing up the stuck words in my throat, I stared hard at the screen before me and give it my full concentration. I heard her sniffing and rustling coming from the dress, but I avoided looking up. It was far too late to say anything now and beside from being curious about why she was dressed as a bride, I wasn’t that interested in hearing her story.

I had had a long difficult day too and wasn’t in the mood to pick up the pieces of someone else’s life. Still though, my mind wouldn’t let it go. Maybe, she’d been to some kind of fancy dress party and fallen out with her best friend or boyfriend? On the other hand, she might have gone to a party, found it not to be fancy dress and left in shame as everyone laughed at her. Or possibly, she was an actress who had been filming a wedding scene and something had gone terribly wrong, thus causing a sudden departure from the set and for her to end up heading home on the same train as me.

Perhaps, even if I had asked her she wouldn’t have told me.

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