Creative Writing: The Bride

“Duck!” the boatman yells at me. I bend over, and I feel a wind blow over my back. I look up, and I see a transparent figure zoom past me. “The spirits will try to take control of whatever body they can possess on the way to the River Styx. Once they go forward though, there’s no turning back,” the boatman tells me. “Thank you,” I say to him. “No problem, Miss,” he replies. “Though, I don’t imagine lord Pluto would be too happy though if I returned his bride possessed with another’s spirit.” I shivered at the word bride. I prefer not to think of myself as his wife, nor he as my husband. That made the days away from mother easier. I never signed up to be his wife. He took me without my permission. All because I picked a flower.

He only promised the day though. That means this initial peace won’t last long. “I hope you do come out,” he tells me. I ignore that comment. “You can stay in that room as long as you like. Just don’t explore the underworld by yourself. It is a dangerous place for the living to be in.” After a moment I hear his footsteps stomp off. Of course, once he is gone I cannot stand the sight of this room any longer. I open the window and crawl out. Flames may fill the world outside, but still seeing the truth of this place is better than staying in the fake sanctuary of lies of my bedchambers. I walk through the castle grounds until I find myself in the garden. The flowers are just as Pluto first promised me. They are made of gems and pearls. His garden may be beautiful and rich in crops through all times of year, but I still prefer the homely sight of my mother’s garden. I sit among the crops. “Who are you?” I hear a small voice behind me. The ghost I see looks only ten, her eyes hallow and her hair platinum blonde. Her spirit is transparent and glowing, as all the spirits I see here are. “Proserpina,” I answer. “Please do not be angry with me. I only feel safe in the

“What does it matter whether I am your prisoner, or hers? I am a captive, nevertheless,” I scream back at him. “Is that what you think of yourself as? My slave? If you were my slave I wouldn’t let you live,” he tells me. “Then kill me,” I dare him. He looks frustrated for a moment, then he takes a deep breath to calm himself. “If it was anything else I wouldn’t think twice about doing so.” “Then why not me? Why me of all the women in the world?” I ask. “I don’t know,” he answers. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have kidnapped you, then tricked you into being trapped here with me. It would be a miserable eternity without you, but if you want I release you.” I stare at him to test his sincerity. He won’t look at me though. His expression is hurt, and a little broken. “Are you being honest? Could I leave if I wanted to?” I ask. He nods, still bowing his head towards the ground. “No other would stay with you. Without being kidnapped, that is.” He nods again. “I will stay then.” I don’t know why I say it once I do, but I don’t think I regret it. He looks up at me, and a grin spreads across his face. Then I know I made the right