"The Wedding Guest"

This was an assignment from my Senior year of High School British Literature class. We had to write the beginning or end to a story we read in class. I chose to write the ending (my friend wrote the beginning) so I'm sorry if it doesn't make the most sense... but I think its a nice peace.



Thunder clapped through the air waking me from a restless slumber. I sat up in bed, sweat cold on my brow. Another nightmare, although this one had taken a different course then the ones that had troubled my mind for over a fortnight.


I had returned home to Monte Burlingame after the wedding of my best friend and cousin. But this thunder storm, which oddly came in the middle of June, seemed to reflect my current inner turmoil. The steps I took resonated off the surrounding walls, the hallow echo burning into my soul, each one reflecting one of my million mistakes.

Darkness filled every hall, and the washroom was no different. I slowly poured water into the basin to wash the filth from my face. As I splashed the chilled water onto my skin lightning flashed across the sky and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The old loon’s words rang in my mind. “That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me…” My face. I marveled of the truths shown on such a masked surface and refused to be the man that had formally known so little of misery.


As I walked through the manor, memories of the past flashed through my mind. The many nights I had spent stripped of virtue plagued me. The lives I had left in ruin tore at my conscience. Before the wedding, I had been a different man. No, not a man, a selfish boy. Though I was of a much sadder disposition, I was now wiser and no more would I aim to be the spoiled, arrogant Count.

I knew that I had made too many mistakes, too many to calculate, too many to remember. But there was a few I could recall and I was determined to make them right. Of all the places to start on the long road to my redemption, here was not one of them.


Herefordshire estate was not that far on by carriage. However I was sure Count Alexander and the newly titled Countess would not be too pleased to see the man who had failed to fulfill his obligations at their wedding. But they were not the only ones to whom I wished to speak on the duration of my trip.

I met the newlywed couple in the parlor of their estate. As I entered the room I bowed my head, for I was feeling a new emotion. An unfamiliar word crossed my mind. Was this remorse?

Alexander stood close to Catherine, who sat with pride and dignity. For the first time in my life, I saw what true love was. Though Catherine sat with an aloof air she looked at Alexander with respect, admiration, desire, and what I could only describe as happiness. I could not help a small smile as I saw the same affection returned from Alexander. Today I would discover the word for the feeling that had plagued me since the wedding. Guilt. How had I been able to hurt them as I did? And, maybe, love was not the puddle I had once viewed it as. My apology to my friends was quick, for I knew that words would not be enough to ease the hurt I had caused them. It would take action. And that would take time.


After I excused myself I started my trip back towards Monte Burlingame. My carriage sped through town, past old houses and an old church. I had my driver stop. It is hard to illustrate the disgrace and embarrassment I felt walking into that hollowed building, with my multitude of sins weighing on my soul. I prayed genuinely for the first time in my life.

I felt lighter as I left and again started for the estate. There was one last thing I wished to amend today. We reached Lark Hill not long after midday. I spoke to Barron Cambridge and tried to set strait my intentions. Catherine had a younger sister by the name of Nicole and I wished to speak with her.


She sat contently in the small estate library, a book in her lap. It was rather odd to find a woman who often spent her time reading books and studying art as Nicole did. Her long hair fell gracefully down over her shoulders and I took my cap in my hands as I stood in the doorway for a moment, noticing her beauty as a human, not just another woman. I had always found her the more attractive of the sisters and on the notion of her beauty, I had pursued her. She was the only woman who had completely refused me. I had, however, never read further into my emotions than that futile attraction.

As I stood watching her I felt a movement inside, as if something was changing. The hard stone that held my parched, emotionless heart groaned and fell away, leaving my breast bear to the world. I felt the same affection in me that I had seen in Alexander and Catherine. I loved this woman and, if she would have me, I intended to marry her. Her name ran over my lips fluidly and rang through the room.


We were to be married two fortnights from now for, even in my prior arrogance, Nicole had seen what good had existed deep within me and had loved me in secret. If only I had known what life could be, what true joy could be.

Not only did I pledge myself to the happiness of my soon to be bride, I found refuge in the church. I gave a great deal of my earnings to the church and spent much of my time there washing away the scarlet in my soul and caring for others. I had found the two things in my life that made me feel worth while, religion and love. My soul was still scared and damaged, but it was well on its way to recovery. I had turned my life around. And this all started with the simple words of an old man’s tale. “There was a ship…”

~Tristan