The Wedding

This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge is the word....

HOLLOW (adjective)

1

: having an indentation or inward curve : concave, sunken

2

: having a cavity within <a hollow tree>

3

: lacking in real value, sincerity, or substance : false,meaningless <hollow promises> <a victory over a weakling ishollow and without triumph — Ernest Beaglehole>

4

: reverberating like a sound made in or by beating on a large empty enclosure : muffled

As always we are to use the third definition of the word.

The Wedding

An empty hollow feeling came over me as I stood on the altar with the rest of the wedding party and watched my sister, the bride, float down the aisle on the arm of my father. The day seemed like a fairy tale because every seemed perfect.

From where I stood I could see my mother in the front pew, head held high basking in the glorious day. An event that had reached A-list status as this was the most talked about affair of the summer.  Her eldest was about to give her hand in marriage to one of society’s finest. 

As my sister stepped onto the altar and the groom took her hand I could see it in her eyes. Confusion and bewilderment. Others would assume it was nerves or excitement however I knew the truth. The truth was that she didn’t love this man. A late night confession fueled by copious amounts of white zinfandel and chocolate revealed that she was in love with another man. An artist rather than an entrepreneurist. A man who is  covered in tattoos, wore shorts and flip flops rather than the man with the crewcut, brooks brothers shirts and docksiders. A lover who set her soul on fire and made her feel truly alive rather than a compulsory union of bank accounts and lineage. 

The organ music had come to a halt and the guests settled down on their pews. The pastor asked the couple to join their hands and face one another. My sister looked down at her own hands. Then she looked into the eyes of the man she was to marry and shook her head from side to side. I held my breath as she took a step backwards and I exhaled as she turned towards me. I held out my hand for her to take, and together we walked down the aisle, ignoring the confused mumbles and whispers and we headed out of the church. And headed towards real love.

The sounds of her homeland

It's been too long since I've participated in the Trifecta Writing Challenge! 

This week the challenge is the following....

WHORE
1: a woman who engages in sexual acts for money: prostitute; also: a promiscuous or immoral woman
2: a male who engages in sexual acts for money
3: a venal or unscrupulous person

Please remember:

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

• The word itself needs to be included in your response.

• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 

• Only one entry per writer.

Be sure to visit www.trifectawritingchallenge.com and join in the fun!

Maggie could hear the merriment a block away as she walked towards the Corner Tavern. It was getting darker sooner and already the gas lamplights were lit. This could only mean that the revelry will be starting earlier and earlier as the evening starts sooner. Maggie glanced inside the bar as she passed by. She saw young Irish girls, the same age as her, looking like strumpets and whores, their faces heavily powdered and their lips stained a tart red giggling like school children eating up the attention of the drunken lowlifes and card-sharks. Human wrecks make for good company. Everyone in their wanted something from each other and would lie and cheat to get what they wanted. Maggie knew this all too well from the old country. The country she sailed away from to start a new life in America. 

In the dark alley behind the bar is the entrance to the staircase leading up to her flat. She opens the door and runs up the wooden staircase, unlocking her one room apartment and quickly shuts the door behind her, hoping that no drunkard has followed her. As she undressed and laid down on her cot, the mattress so thin she could feel the wires underneath, she listens to the sounds of debauchery going on below her and into the street. This was the tradeoff she paid for having her own place rather than sharing a tenement with other women new to this country. She craved the solitude and the privacy and this was what she could afford for now on her meager pay.Truth be told, Maggie also craves the sounds of her homeland, a place she ran from yet the homesickness tugs at her heart. She drifts off to sleep and the squandering and boozing continues late into the night.