The wedding ceremony was dictated by tradition so all Kate and I had to do was be in the right place at the right time. The reception however was meant to be more relaxed, but now that we’re here, it doesn’t feel that way.
Kate wanted to hear Harry’s speech at rehearsals but he refused. He promised he’d be good but we both know how unpredictable he is.
As Harry stands to give his best man speech he turns to Kate and says ‘Peace be sweetheart, and all will be well’. Oh shit, he’s pulled a skirling. And he’s grinning mischievously at my prayle grove.
For 100 consecutive days I will write and post a short story (about 100 words) incorporating a randomly selected word from Afterliff: A new dictionary of things there should be words for.
prayle grove n.
The fear in the eyes of a groom as the best man stands up to speak.
The awful realisation that the person you’ve been talking to all this time is not who you thought they were.