Now, the two hundred guests, seated on the lawn under the old oak, had left. Father Thomas had returned to church to prepare for tomorrow’s mass. The horse and carriage had returned to the stables.
All is quiet now as I sit alone in this sacred spot in solitude. Sacred only to me for this is place where she was to marry me. She never showed.
This is a story in 100 or fewer for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo above. Click the blue frog to read more stories!