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Author Topic: Man of Honor  (Read 336 times)

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Offline Coldmiser8675

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Man of Honor
« on: May 20, 2017, 11:12:47 AM »
A story I call, “Man of Honor”, follows Brandon Gestwick, a man who has lost his true love. The worst part of it all, is that she has asked him to be her Maid of Honor, or in this case, “Man of Honor.” Humiliated by this proposal, Brandon storms away, and sends his childhood friend crying.

Celia Willows, the bride-to-be, has an even bigger problem; all of her bridesmaids chosen have disappeared, and new ones are needed, and fast. Her only other option is to find old friends, who have quite the peculiar sort of occupations. When there is no other way, and upon finding out that the bride’s very own life would be at risk without her maids by her side, Brandon decides to set off and find them, to save his best friend’s life.

As he journeys, he realizes that someone is trying to stop his progress, and worse, get him killed. But who? Who would want to ruin Celia’s wedding and end her life? Being The Man of Honor is more than  just standing there looking good; Brandon and the bridesmaids must also protect the bride at all costs, from a twisted soul who wishes to do her harm.

Vote in the poll! This is the first time I’m actually doing this, because why not? How’s the first chapter?

Man of Honor

“You’ve always been there for me Brandon, when I have always needed you.”

Brandon smiled. This was it. Finally the moment he had been waiting for: Celia Willows was finally going to confess her feelings to him. For one time in his life, the cloud of self-doubt was breaking, and a sliver of sunlight seeped through it, opening a crack to the great future of possibilities. Brandon Gestwick had been patient, very damn patient; About ten or eleven  years, give or take. When he was a young boy, with his body hairs not yet grown and balls soon to drop, he was at his most patient. It was then he had always thought of Celia as a best friend. But come high school, that best friend of his developed big breasts, curved athletic thighs, gorgeous flowing hair, and a smooth face of the goddesses. And now, after college, she was twice that beautiful.

Brandon remembered it as if only yesterday: She had moved into the neighborhood when he was seven and she six. She was boisterous, and loud, though patient, and very pretty.  Despite what his middle school and even college buddies have said, she was very smart for a blonde. Brandon had found that out always the hard way, when he would play her in checkers, and chess, and even cards. Somehow, she had made UNO a game of skill.

They first met when she had intruded into Brandon’s parent’s yard one day, claiming that she was bored out of her wits and was out searching for kids her age to play with. Brandon was doing his daily chores, picking up twigs and sticks from the yard, and when he had spotted her up on his picket fence he was not sure what to say.  She did the talking for him. Brandon remembered even to this day as a man grown. “ Finally! A kid!” she had said loudly. Her long golden hair was a bit tangled and mottley and her pretty little face had showed patches of dirt.

“What are you doing in my yard?” Young Brandon asked.

“Looking for someone like you,” she responded. “I’m bored, and I looked all over the place for kids to play with. All there is for miles is boring old people.”

“ Well, I might be a kid,” Brandon said, “ but I don’t think I’ll be any fun to play with. I’m boring, and I don’t know any games to play.”

The girl tilted her head. “You mean you don’t know King of the Mountain? Duck, Duck Goose? Red Rover? Charades? Tag?”

“Of course I know those,” Brandon stammered.

“Then what are you talking about?” She strode over to him, and offered her hand. “My name is Celia. Celia Willows. Do you want to play with me?”

Brandon looked at her, unsure. He took her hand though. “I’m Brandon,” he looked at his yard, still a mess with twigs and sticks clustered all over the place on the un-mowed lawn. Before he had anytime to tell the girl his dilemma, she had pulled him away, out to his front yard, and then into the street, where they played a game of tag.

Brandon remembered how awkward he was at first, but when he was being chased by Celia, maneuvering through the obstacles of lawn gnomes, hedges, fountains, and gardens, he felt that feeling of enjoyment course through him, giving off a runner's high, and he kicked off, and enjoyed every minute of their game. They didn’t finish the day with that, however. They played another game where the ground was lava, and they had to hop on all the garden stones strewn about on Mrs. Grover’s craterous yard. The lady had such an unelevated back lawn, the two kids couldn’t enjoy their game any more than they had while jumping stone to stone,  going up a slope, and then down.

Brandon remembered it all, sweetly. It was a memory that he always kept on his top shelf of memories. Him and Ceilia only had each other in that neighborhood. Neither of them had brothers or sisters, and their parents were always so busy. They had blissful years, full of stories and adventures, until the middle of grade school, when they started meeting new kids to hang around with. It didn’t worry Brandon then, because he would always be with her, hang around with her at recess, playing tag and what not. And then at the end of middle school, Brandon had grown those things people call romantic feelings. They screwed him up, making it harder for him cope with Celia, as he would ponder what would happen if he told her of these feelings. What if she rejected him? Surely their friendship would be awkward thereafter...

“Brandon? Hello?” Adult Celia was waving a hand in front of his eyes.

Brandon blinked. He had been reminiscing for so long he had forgotten that she had been talking. “Huh?” was all he could say.

She gave him a look. “Have you been listening to anything that I was saying?”

“Something about being there for you, when you always needed it. I think.” Brandon smiled.

Celia did not return the smile for a moment, until she punched him playfully in the shoulder. “Dick,” she said, letting out a few giggles. They laughed for a moment until she calmed him down. It was back to business. “Listen, Brandon. I have to tell you something.”

Brandon hushed, and nodded. His heart was pounding in his chest, his thoughts swam, he even thought his vision was blurring out of focus. I’ve waited so long, so very long. I love you, Celia Willows, I love you more than--

“I’m engaged.”

His heart dropped when his ears took in those words. How far had it dropped, he couldn’t say, but it fell pretty deep. His smile from their shared giggles was frozen on his face, and for a moment his head swam, not of nervousness, but of some kind of denial; that all this was some nightmare, or a glitch in his reality, and his mind had misunderstood her words.

What?” He said at last. It came out sharp.

Celia gave him a questioning look. She seemed surprised.

“I said I’m engaged, dummy,” She smiled at him again, but this time it was unsure. “Billy Bobskin proposed to me on Cliff Rock Beach. It was truly beautiful, Brandon. It was sunset, and we--”

“The Billy Bobskin? From high school?” Brandon couldn’t control the horrified confusion wrapped in his voice. This was no nightmare. This was a living hell. His face was reddening, he could feel. “When the hell did you meet up with him?”

Celia’s face went serious. “Brandon, I always had a thing with him. He’s been driving me around in his pickup truck since high school, and we’d go to concerts, the beach, even the movies.” She swiped a few locks of her blonde hair away from her face, and she looked away, almost shyly. She did that when she let out her feelings. “ Being with him is always an adventure.”

And what about being with me? Brandon only stared at her, unbelievably. The three of them went on these adventures she loved so much, and Billy Bobskin had rarely gained any ground in the romantic ring...Though he did choose the places they would go to. Had they gone on more trips without him? So that’s it, you picked him because he knows a lot more games to play, meanwhile, all I know is tag, duck duck goose, red rover...Brandon couldn’t decide what he should do.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Celia looked confused. “ He just proposed to me yesterday. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to about this.”

Great, I am her mother. “No, why haven’t you told me you were in a relationship with that filthy, tractor-driving scumbag?”

“Excuse me?” Celia's eyes were wide with shock, and she seemed more confused than angry.

Brandon stood up, fists clenched. “ You heard me, Celia. You kept this whole relationship away from me, why?”

Ceilia narrowed her eyes at him, and she stood. “You were always saying that he was dangerous, and a jerk. I didn’t have the heart to tell you I was dating him.”

“And what led you to believe that now was the time to change your decision and tell me? What am I, Ceilia? Your mother? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Celia’s look faltered, her tough brown eyes glanced away for a minute. “ Because I thought you changed. And he’s changed. I thought now if you saw him, you would accept him..”

These words were like acid to Brandon’s ears. It was one of these moments where he wished he was deaf, and born blind, so he never had first stared at Celia Willows in the first place.

“Is that why you’re upset? Because I’m engaged to Billy? Would you rather I marry someone with a better childhood background, like Ben at my work, or--”

“Or me,” Brandon shot back. “You ever think about marrying me? Me, the one whose shoulder you always cried on since we played in dirt and mud? Me, who went to every single goddamn field hockey tournament you had? Me, who talked about all your problems, all your homework, everything? Me, who’s been patient enough in hopes that someday you would get to see me as more than a friend?”

There was cold silence. The air went still, and Brandon didn’t care. His mind was ablaze. He’d set it on fire, so he could burn his shelf of memories. The memories of her.

“Brandon...I’m...I’m so sorry.” She was speechless, how, Brandon had no idea. He’d always been obvious trying to let his feelings show, so perhaps that blonde stereotype was valid after all.

He turned on his heel. “Have a happy wedding,” He said coldly, before stomping out the door. A few minutes later, as she was still standing there, tears filling the corners of her eyes and redding them, he stomped back in. “This is my house!” He said, shouting through his humiliation of having forgotten that they were in his room. He motioned to the door. “If you will?”

“Brandon, look, I’m very sorry--”

“If you will?” Brandon said sharply.

Celia gave her childhood friend one last look, until finally, she walked out. Brandon slammed the door behind her. He looked around at his bedroom, furious. He turned to the small shelves fixed against the wall, and grabbed a photo of him and Celia as kids, then threw it against the wall. It gave a satisfied crash, and landed with a good thump on the floor. Brandon threw himself face-first on his bed, and yelled into his pillow. The place where Celia had sat still smelled of her perfume, a light strawberry scent. Brandon reached in under his bed, and pulled out a canister of Febreeze, and sprayed the very spot until the strawberry smell was unrecognizable. He laid there, stock still, in hopes that if he did not lift his face from the pillow, he would suffocate himself.

A whole night had passed into early morning, and he was still alive.

Damn it.

He decided it was best to get up, somewhat brush his teeth, and then ruin the mouth cleaning with black coffee. He stood up, clothes wrinkled from yesterday, hair a mess, and walked groggily to his toaster. The device popped out his toast, which he took and chomped down sandwiching a stick of butter.

The doorbell rang, and Brandon did not bother to pay it any heed. When it rang again he shouted a curse and threw his half eaten sandwich against the window, causing a resounding thud. The butter left a wet streak as it slid off the glass. The door opened, and he heard heavy footfalls.

“Oh lawd, Brandon, what was that bang?” His mother waddled over to the kitchen, one woman with possibly the weight of three. She was dressed in a fine red jacket and forest green sweater underneath, her red hair in curls, and a round pearl necklace around a thick neck. Her enormous watermelon-sized breasts bounced and sagged as she approached. She scrutinized her son for a moment. “You look a mess!” She said. As she took a step she heard something crunch from the bottom of her heel. She looked down at the broken toast “What’s going on here?”

Brandon didn’t turn to greet her. He went over to the bag of bread, and took out two more slices. “What do you want, ma?”

“I heard it’s true!” She waddled closer. “That sweet Celia is getting married! Oh, oh yes, her mother told me all about it! I’m so EX-CITED!” her voice was louder than an opera singer, especially for seven in the morning.

So she had told her mother, Brandon thought. She lied to me. He sneered.

“Oh, this is going to be the best wedding eva! There’ll be beautiful bouquets, exquisite wines, harps, men in tuxedos...EEEEEEK! I can’t wait Branny!”

Brandon shoved his bread in the toaster, staring sullenly at the wall.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see those two dance. Did she pick the wedding colors? Oh, I wonder what I’ll be wearing..I’ll have to talk with her mother about it..”

“Yes, go talk to her and get out of my house.” Brandon said.

His mother stopped, and narrowed her eyes. “What was that coming from your tongue, Branny?” She said sharply.

“I said leave. I don’t want to hear anymore.”

“Hear anymore of what? The wedding? Branny, it’s going to be beautiful! Can you just picture our Celia looking into her newly wed’s eyes on the alter? Such a beautiful beginning to her womanhood.”

“Unless Billy Bobskin decides to have them wed on his Ford pickup truck.”

“Don’t be so rash. It’s going to be beautiful! Those two will be standing on an altar, gazing into each other’s eyes, leaning in--”

“WOULD YOU JUST SHUT UP!” Brandon threw the toaster off his counter, the plug ripped out of the outlet.

His mother screeched in horror. The toaster banged against the wall of his kitchen, then slammed to the ground, dented, but not broken.

“Brandon Orwell Gestwick, what is the meaning of this!”

Brandon turned on his mother. “This stupid wedding, that’s what. I was there for Celia almost our entire lives, more so than this stupid, fat redneck! I should be the one marrying her!”

His mother’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve never even took her out on a date, Branny.”

Brandon opened his mouth, ready to lash out more angry words, but nothing came. That was true, as terrifying as it was. He never had even confessed his feelings. His mother crossed her thick arms one over the other.

“Branny, if you liked Celia all this time, why didn’t you say anything?”

He brushed a hand over his mopey face, across his messy hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “I couldn’t find the right moment.”

“Well I don’t believe you ever will, Branny. She’s engaged.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“And I’ll keep telling you, as a reminder of how stupid you are for letting her go.”

Brandon walked past the kitchen table, shoulders slouched, and started retreating into his living room.

“Where do you think you’re going, Brandon?”

“To sleep. I don’t know why I thought getting up for work would make things better.”

She waddled after him, big breasts bouncing. “Going into your room is not going to make things better Brandon. You have to talk to her about this--”

Brandon stopped halfway up the stairs. “I did, oh yes, I did. I gave her a piece of my mind, don’t worry.”

His mother looked at him horrified for a second. The worst thing about her face to Brandon was he actually liked that look on her. It was a much better sight  than her plumpy joyous expression over Celia’s wedding. 

“She came over and told me the good news,” Brandon said. “ And I yelled at her and sent her off. She wanted me to be her Man of Honor, can you believe it? A male Maid of Honor, the highest seat of the Friend Zone.” He smiled sadly, and turned around to continue climbing his steps.

“You’re her best friend,” His mother began.

“Not anymore. She cried off to her house, into Billy’s flabby arms.” He vanished into his room, the door slamming shut behind him.

“Brandon!” She shouted at the stairs. “Brandon, come back down here! This is ridiculous!” She attempted to climb the stairs, but after the second step she was already gasping for air, and she had to retreat. She mumbled to herself, shouted out at him again when she caught her breath, and then finally gave up and left.

He was a broken man. He had laid exactly how he had been last night--face-first into his pillow. Thanks to his bloody mother, he envisioned Celia and Billy’s wedding. The theme of the splendor was red, and Celia was in a beautiful scarlet-white wedding gown, her long blonde hair falling in curls to her shoulders. Billy Bobskin was in a crimson tux, with the sleeves ripped off, showing his pale, unattractive arms. Brandon’s mother was crying tears of joy in the first row of the pews, while Celia’s mother and father shed their own tears beside her, silent with proud smiles. Her father never really approved of Billy, but in this dream everyone was thrilled.

They kissed, and the church alter crumbled behind them. Now they were riding in Billy’s pickup truck, cheering and shouting with joy. Trailing behind from the back, a white sign that wrote, “Just Hitched”, while Deer antlers and fish were dragged by thin string, bouncing against the rode as the car drove on. Brandon had tried to run after the truck driving off into the sunset, which appeared to be the fiery edge of the world with its  bright orange-yellow glow.

No matter how much he ran, the car grew gradually more distant, until finally it disappeared into the sun. And Brandon knew he would never see her again. The scene of her crying in his room came back to him, and he even saw himself, lashing out in rage and jealousy, throwing her out. She will never see me again. She does not like me, just as she does not love me.


Check out my story! Honey, Stalin Took the Kids >>,13888.0.html