DescriptionThis was another writing assignment where we had to write a story based on a image. It was of a man with tux. I wrote this quickly, and hated it; but my peers loved it. I want to hear your thoughts.
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In some cases marriage might be seen as a beautiful and joyous occasion. A time when two connected souls might pledge their love for one another; especially in this day and age. The luxurious black tux should make me feel handsome and of great value. My bride’s family of course spared no penny in making this day memorable for her. More her, than me, I realized all too late. I was never a sophisticated man by any means. A rented suit from a run down place in the slums of New York was good enough for me. I didn’t need a personally designed and fitted tuxedo from the family’s exclusive tailor. Helene told me that I needed to fit in with the rest of the expenses. I couldn’t stick out with my “borish and displeasing additions” to the aesthetic decor or the gowns that her many bridesmaid wore. The flowers, the catering, everything. I should feel somewhat honored that a wealthy woman (who obviously lives off her father’s trust fund) would desire to wed myself. I have nothing to offer her, other than a shabby apartment with a mini-fridge, a hot plate, single bedroom/living room/dining room. I should be excited or at the bare minimum content; but I wasn’t. The ten years that I spent studying directing at the film academy couldn’t prepare me for the terrifying actions I would have to complete this day. The flower pinned to my jacket was a delicate lily; just as delicate if not more than the situation that was placed on me. I had many chances, but my own inhibitions and insecurities combined with a teaspoon of bad luck, destroyed my chances of directing a broadway play. A play that received critical acclaim, without me. Typically, when one goes to drink away their sorrows at a bar, would at the very least attempt to have some grasp of pride and dignity. I didn’t need the whole room to know of my failures. They did I reckon, my eyes revealed all of them with a single glance filled with unshed tears and a mouth spilling out pathetic whimpers and whines. I knew I was being immature when I got myself dead drunk. Then my self pity turned into downright stupidity, when I accepted her offer to make me feel better. I could excuse myself on the ideals that a drunk man might not be aware of what he’s doing. Maybe the fact that only a foolish and lonely bachelor would turn down the advances of a beautiful woman. Or disgustingly enough, it could be the fact that for once I wanted to not think, to feel appreciated by whatever intoxicated creature approached me. I didn’t realize my presence in her hotel room. I didn’t slow down when she all but ripped off her dress. I didn’t once question methods of birth control. I vaguely remember something about a pill, but in my defense, I didn’t think to pull out. Normal one-night trysts would usually end in leaving and thanking them for a somewhat decent night of carnal pleasure. I expected to never see her again. Yet, fate be damned. Reckless behaviors always come back up, no matter how much we try. Murphy’s law does that anything that can go wrong will go wrong. It went very wrong. I wanted to deny that the embryo was mine, but the signs grew inevitable. I did wish that I didn’t have such a noble heart, but I surely couldn’t leave a woman I unintentionally knocked up alone. I didn’t even know her name, but I wanted to be there for that child. Especially since my parents weren’t there for me. Hopefully I won’t mess up parenthood… or marriage. I didn’t love her, nor was I sure I would love this baby. It represented every blasted decision I made. The failures that led me to that bar. I knew though that the moment she would walk towards me down the aisle, my life would be over. I could be considered cowardly or selfish, but the two bottles of advil would make it all better. And it did, in a way.