HER

It was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives, and it was. The old saying had not fell short. Everyone's stories had confirmed the truth of this very statement. And everyone's stories, at least those who are married, said their wedding day was their most happy day. As Anne Boleyn had said about her own wedding to King Henry. Would Anne still think that? Knowing now what had happened to her? Being the first of the wives to be beheaded. Would she think it was still her most happy day? Too late for answers now, like it is for mine.

My most happy day was my wedding day. It was the most typical wedding you would imagine as a little girl. Beautiful, bountiful, and so much love. Flowing white tule and white roses and rose petals, confetti being carried by the wind, making the lawn look it a light snow had fallen. Everything was white, ribbons, cake, even the rings were white gold with white diamonds. It was a dream only people who were willing to pay come make come true.

Our vows were written, he would always love me and and I forever will care for him till death. We kissed, our love locked eternal, only we mattered in the universe at that moment.

And then, nothing...

I simply was not anything. I was not there. My life does not live at all. My life ended on my most happy day. Do you wonder if I would still say me wedding day was my most happy day?

After we ran to our white limo, waving like a Disney couple from the reception. We sped off into the dark, our lives finally as one.

Down a winding road, the world had started to slow down with the breech of a thin white light. I can feel the car holt so fast and start to swerve into a near stillness, the stars and the moon no longer flying by. The wind no longer whipping my face with cold air through the open windows. The air not pushing me back as I pushed forward into my new married life. The white light had moved left to right and the thin line become ever encompassing. The ultimate light searing my eyes, A low burst of screams to crunching white metal splattered with red.

Skin ripping, bone crushing and splintering. Cartilage of my nose being forcibly pushed back through the my skull. The worst sound was that of my new husbands screams, and knowing his pain, since it was the same as mine. The way my body lashed back to front, spine curving with the lash. The force of the air pushing us around the back of the limo all around. Feeling the whole body experience of my spine bone letting go from the vertebrae. Snap. Intense pain. Then a soft grey overtone starts to overcome in my sight and slowly becomes darker. To just black. You feel away from your body, yet in your body trapped by a magic outline that holds you in. Like saran wrap, and it sits heavy upon your body while your soul sits there. I am held down physically while I can feel warmth I can not see. Fire licking the dull skin, saran wrap being melted to me. Metal hot against bare skin and torn white and red tule. Smelling the burning, or maybe imagining what the smell is, but I can feel it cling to me.

I can not scream, I can not move, but I am aware, and once the fire started it lite my surrounding and I can see what my stiff body allows my in my position. I am laying in a position I can see the flames come for me crawling along the white interior of the limo.

I lay. Hot. Charred. Broken. Watching the ashes from my now burnt body fly into the wind and I can see the sun begin to rise. It beautiful, my first day as a wife, and I can see the sun enter the sky over the sea as we are up on a cliff. Am I still a wife? I am sure I am dead. Does that make me nothing? I did exsit before, but do I now?

The first responders get to us, breathing me in, allowing me to enter their lungs and become oxygen in the blood. I am cut out of the metal. No longer the white limo but a twisted statue of hot anger. My world goes black again, from bottom to top.

I am transported and I can hear the black body bag crinkle around me. It is cold. People open the bag, bright lights are above me. Intense more so then the last light. More heat then the fire, I still can not move. I can not scream. Where is he?

I hear he is in the same place, we are side by side in cold storage, I can not reach out for him. I can not speak and say I love you. I can not say goodbye in case there is nothing more. Will I be incased in this body forever? They say I can could only be identified by my teeth, no one comes to see my for the last time.

I can see shadow arms in white jackets and white gloves above me. I can not understand their words. I do hear that much of me is burnt away. I am in the wind, I have no hands and no feet. I have no eyelids, but my contracts melted to my eyes. If I move on, will I wander as a monster? Charred and limbless? Must I watch the reactions of everyone who see me and are horrified by me?

I can feel pressure and hear a grinding noise. They cut me open, they measure, poke and prod and peel. Cut. Lift out and weigh. Put everything back in and sew me up. The feeling of thick medical grade thread and a thick needle pierce, thread, pull, pierce, thread, pull, repeat.

A white sheet is placed whimsically over me and I am rolled beside him. The lights turn off for now.

I am moved in the morning again into a box, I understand what I coming. I can hear the gas turn on and the room get hotter. I can not see in the box aside from the red through the cracks of the box. The button is pushed and I move for the last time into the flame. I was ended by flame and now I am reborn from flame. This fire will cleanse me, and I will cease to be. I feel the fire burn the box and start at the stubs of my legs as I am moved inward. My knee is on fire and again I burn. I am turning into ash, moving up through the filter and into the wind again. This time the flame is not bad, I feel no pain, I can not scream, I can not move. I burn until I am in my final form. A pile of ash.

I am no more my most happy day. I became nothing, just dust to the Earth.

Time stands still,

The driver tried to dodge the oncoming truck filled with gas. The driver managed to hit only part of the limo, throwing me off the cliff, away from the accident. The driver died. He was the one beside me, not my love. He lived, lived in a white hospital room for a year. He met a woman, She cared for him and they feel in love. My Vow.

And when he proposed to her, he had my ashes pressed into a diamond, his past merging his present and future all together. A symbol of his life given to her.

He gave me away, my anger defines my next life, he knows it. He knows over the years I am angry. I haunt him. But by then it was too late.