bridesmaid - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Fiona was sitting on the bench, her feet kicking in the air as if she wished she were on a swing. In the warm light of early summer her hair glowed chestnut, tumbling in curls to the powder blue dress. Rory sat next to her, giving her a small poke in the stomach. "Hey you, ready to carry some flowers?"
She looked up, brown eyes wide, "I'm gonna ride my bike later, I've got a new helmet with lights in it, princesses and mermaids!" As she spoke her cheeks dimpled, eyes sparkled with pride. "My bike is pink. Do you have a bike Uncle Rory?"
Every bridesmaid wore a simple dress of soft sage green and a crown of baby's breath on their heads, the tiny white flowers glowing softly in the late spring light. With their hair loose and in simple canvass shoes they were like spirits of the forest, each one of them wearing a smile that could rival the sun above. In the ceremony they had been calm, yet now it was over their energy came to the fore and they tore about the grass laughing fit to burst.
The bridesmaid was eleven if a day and she stood shyly awaiting the bride. With her face to the sun her almost white hair blew in the wind, fanning out behind her. Her dress was simple, clean lines, cream with a lavender waistband and bow. For those moments before the car arrived, she was quite serene, mature beyond her years.
The bridesmaid had spent the morning playing with worms in the backyard, but had since been scrubbed and put in a pink frilly dress and told to stand still. She was bored and there were only so many times you could play with the wide ribbon sash tied around your waist and have it be interesting. She kicked at the dirt in her satin shoes until she saw an ant. Then, kneeling down in the dirt she had kicked up, she tried to coax it onto her hand. When she stood there were brown and green smears on the once beautiful dress, and even the golden ringlets her hair had been teased into couldn't quite make her look like the perfect doll the bride had wanted.
The bridesmaid was a picture snatched from a magazine. She had white and frills and ribbons and lace. Her shoes were satin and her chestnut hair fell in perfect ringlets. The bride had planned her look perfectly. So it was unfortunate that in every shot her finger was plugged firmly up her nose.
The bridesmaid was a little old for the job. She was fifty and a day but she had insisted. She had never had the honor as a girl and now it was on her bucket list. There was much talking behind her back and whispers regarding her emotional stability. On occasion some plucky relative of the happy couple would pipe up and tell her it wasn't right, it should be a child's role after all. They soon backed down when confronted with her fervor and so the rumours were redoubled. On the day of the wedding the bride snuck in and gave a whisky laced with valium. The old bird would be out the entire time. And the plan would have been brilliant had the old bird ever woken up.
Mavis stopped, staring a little too long. It struck her that the bridesmaid was an odd choice, almost too young for the role and with a face like she'd just been told no television for a month. She stood there, thumb in mouth, thin blonde hair wisping over pudgy cheeks, arms folded tight.
The vicar droned and the bridesmaids fidgeted. The smallest one was wiggling her leg up and down, ignoring the hissing of her grandmother. It was as if she'd entered a trance, a make-believe world that was nothing to do with what the adults intended. On the next rise of her leg the shoe took flight, rising in an arc until it fell on the bride's bouquet.