Photo credit: Dimitry B.
The marriage ceremonies done, Perrana sat to the side, watching. Families, neighbors, living real lives, being real people, laughing and dancing under the red lanterns.
When they looked at him, they saw a clerical robe, a title. A thing, like a horse, or a sign that talked. He would leave tomorrow. Why learn his name?
He searched the revelers for someone who looked like her. There often was one. Sometimes one for him, too. Someday he might marry an almost-her to a not-quite-him, a closing act for that tattered dream.
But no, no almost-her this time. Other types. They blurred, one village to another. Quiet farmer. Gruff blacksmith. Bragging grandmother.
A woman approached. Soup wife, he guessed, asking blessings for her children.
“Brother Perrana?” Her voice rang sweet. She knew his name.
“Can I help you?”
“You looked lonely. Do you dance?” She held out her hand, met his eyes, saw him.
When had he last danced? A lifetime ago.
Time for a new lifetime. Perhaps with a not-her.
He stood, took her hand. “Yes.”
Word count: 175. Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge. Big thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting, and for Gina at Singledust for providing the original prompt photo, below:
Photo © Gina at Singledust