#188 Matrimonial Roulette

by Jeffery Cohen

The crowd of people that shuffled out of the church acted more like mourners at a funeral than guests at a wedding. As they passed Rick, they shook his hand and offered their condolences. After all, there were worse things that could happen to a man than being left at the altar.

As family and friends left, they were certain that Rick would bounce back. Now he stood alone in the light reflected through a fractured stain glass window. He undid the pin of his boutonnière—a lone daisy, her favorite flower. He plucked its petals and watched each one float to the floor.

“She loves me. She loves me not.”

Rick made his way back to his apartment and took the phone off the hook. He’d had his fill of good intentioned sympathy. The tuxedo that he was wearing felt like a straightjacket. He wriggled out of it like an escape artist. Piece by piece, he returned the suit to the hanger as if it had never been worn.

Sitting down at his desk, he rested his head in his hands. “It was an awful lot to take in for one day”, he thought as he slowly pulled open the top drawer. He reached in and wrapped his hand around a small revolver. He loaded one bullet into the steel chamber, snapped it closed and spun the cylinder. Pointing the barrel to his head, he whispered.

“She loves me.” Click. “She loves me not.” Click.

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