Pondering short story ideas and this patch of dialogue came to me. I thought I’d write it down. Not sure what I’ll do with it, if anything. Where would you take it?
“I wouldn’t marry you if the flames of hell were devouring Aunt Ida’s apple tree, and copulation could save the human race, do you hear me Billy Killswell? For the four hundredth time, the answer is no!”
I had meant it, too. I’d meant it the three hundred and ninety nine times previously, and the seventy-eight times after. So what was I doing here in this damn white dress standing beside him?
Four hundred seventy nine is a charm, apparently.
Billy grinned over at me.
I snarled back.
His grin widened.
If I only I’d held out for four hundred and eighty. Four-eighty is definitely a number full of secure denial.
Damn Billy Killswell. Damn him from now ’til eternity.
“I told you I’d get you here, didn’t I?” Billy whispered.
“To hell with you, Billy.” I muttered back.
Pastor Griffith gave a little start, and looked down his bi-focals at me. I scowled as he cleared his throat and motioned the congregation to sit down. The congregation was half-blind Brody Turner and my cousin Lula, who were the designated witnesses to this farce.
“Dearly beloved…” Griff intoned solemnly.
“Stop!” bellowed a voice from the back, and all nine eyes in the church turned to stare at the door.
So you tell me, who’s at the door? Leave a suggestion or two in the comment section below, and I’ll pick one and see where we go from there!