They exploded out of the church hand in hand. Heather's wedding gown trailed them like a cloud of cartoon smoke and Jimmy's cheek were a flustered red. He'd crawled out of that burning police cruiser after it flipped, sprinted the 4 kilometres to the ceremony, burst into the church with his leather jacket zinged from the flames, and with his hand extended and his Sinatra blue eyes locked on the love of his life he said
“Let's
go babe”
Now
they both grinned like idiots as they jumped the stairs and sprinted
across the lawn. They narrowly avoided tripping over Ms Cunningham
and her near-comatose 14-year old poodle, Tootsie Puffleton, when
Humberton Dinkles voice boomed from the top of the stairs.“Get
back here, you! You owe me a wedding, girl!”
Humberton Dinkles face was a heart attack-red and he shook with anger and indignation. His son Philip still stood left at the altar. Limp-dicked, dejected, worth a cool hundred mil and silently swearing revenge. Blood seeped from his closed fists as he pressed his fingers deeper into the palms of his hands.
But in the backseat of the 1965 silver Cadillac de Ville Heather and Jimmy had already yelled at the driver to gun it and were now busy devouring each other. Kisses for lovers starved and parched. After an eternity they paused to stare dreamily into each others eyes.
"I love you, Heather", said Jimmy and filled her glass with champagne from the comically oversized bottle.
"Oh, I love you too, baby!", squealed Heather and sprinkled their drinks with a white crystal powder from a small plastic capsule.
They raised their glasses in a toast.
"To a happy ending", she beamed.
"A happy ending", he replied.
They finished their glasses and she leaned into him with a delighted sigh. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair as they waited for the black to fade into them. The cyanide rushed through their system and the silver Cadillac raced into the orange sunset. On the radio they played The Pixies.
Humberton Dinkles face was a heart attack-red and he shook with anger and indignation. His son Philip still stood left at the altar. Limp-dicked, dejected, worth a cool hundred mil and silently swearing revenge. Blood seeped from his closed fists as he pressed his fingers deeper into the palms of his hands.
But in the backseat of the 1965 silver Cadillac de Ville Heather and Jimmy had already yelled at the driver to gun it and were now busy devouring each other. Kisses for lovers starved and parched. After an eternity they paused to stare dreamily into each others eyes.
"I love you, Heather", said Jimmy and filled her glass with champagne from the comically oversized bottle.
"Oh, I love you too, baby!", squealed Heather and sprinkled their drinks with a white crystal powder from a small plastic capsule.
They raised their glasses in a toast.
"To a happy ending", she beamed.
"A happy ending", he replied.
They finished their glasses and she leaned into him with a delighted sigh. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair as they waited for the black to fade into them. The cyanide rushed through their system and the silver Cadillac raced into the orange sunset. On the radio they played The Pixies.
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