Bridezilla

Here is another short story I wrote for the Furious Fiction writing competition. The story had to mention something being sent or received in the mail, it had to include the words jingle, click, bump and sizzle and the last sentence had to contain three words. We had the weekend to complete it and it had to be 500 words or less. Rules, rules rules!

Bridezilla

‘You look like a bush turkey.’

‘Huh?’

‘You know, kicking up the dust…’ Serena said, bracelets jingling. As she sauntered back into the house, her stilettos made a click clack noise and Laurel felt a twinge of envy.

Serena, who had the longest neck and the palest blonde hair this side of the river had been a man magnet for years. She was a bride-to-be and took great delight in getting all her friends to do various little ‘chores’ for her.

Laurel had been assigned the task of sweeping the large, wrap-around deck, Jenny to the front lawn, which was now strewn with bark and Priscilla and Darlene, the dutiful twins, to the assortment of chairs which had been hired from the community hall and needed painting.

Serena wanted to get married at home, so it was up to her long-suffering parents and tribe of friends to ‘make it happen’. Gerry, her fiancé was pretty hapless and Laurel wondered how long their union would last. Long enough for him to find out who Serena really was?

Just the other day, Laurel’s bridesmaid’s dress had arrived and the colour was a hideous khaki. It had appeared emerald green in the catalogue but the dull fabric was more reminiscent of seaweed than gemstones.

‘Well, you could spruce it up with a little tiara,’ Mike, Laurel’s brother had said.

‘The only person wearing a tiara will be Miss Glendale 1979, Mike. It’s her only chance to wear it again.’

‘She’s lorded that thing over you gals for years. Pete and I call ‘er skinny chops. When she walks down the street it looks as if she’s about to snap in half.’

‘She struts, Mike; she doesn’t walk,’ Laurel said, wondering why she was standing up for her selfish friend.

On the morning of her wedding, the heat was sizzling, but it was nothing to the fire in Serena’s eyes.

‘You look disgusting!’ Serena yelled at Darlene. ‘That boil on your nose is going to ruin the photos.’

The ‘boil’ was merely a small pimple, which could be easily disguised.

‘And you, you’ve got a sunburn, Jenny. Didn’t I tell you to wear a hat?’

‘I put on sunscreen, but I must have missed a spot,’ Jenny whispered, her eyes full.

Laurel sucked in her stomach and hoped Serena wouldn’t notice her dress was too tight or that sweat patches were beginning to stain the fabric.

‘Are you decent?’ A gruff voice called through the door.

Serena bumped into Jenny as she strode past and opened it a crack.

‘I don’t wanna get married,’ Gerry said, dark smudges under his eyes.

‘How long have you been standing there?’ Serena demanded.

‘Long enough…’

‘It was just a misunderstanding.’

‘I’ve been up half the night, actually.’

Hoping for some moral support, Serena swivelled around. Window open, a loud gash of lipstick on her mirror spelt three words.

‘Serves you right.’