One Hundred Nine

The cavernous room is brimming with garish decorations, clearly the work of a drunken wedding planner. An artificial aisle littered with neon-pink rose petals and orange and silver glitter defines the pathway between the rear door and the stage. Dozens of mirror balls hang from the ceiling, each one targeted by a unique colored floodlight, washing the room in a psychedelic kaleidoscope of light. No marriage could withstand this lunacy. Who could have blamed the bride for fleeing even before the ceremony started?

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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