House of Frozen Brides

A Tragicomedy 

Act I: A Little Something.

“I want to do a thing,” N says as we walk, scarves tight, cigarettes cupped against the wind.

“You want to do a thing?”


“What sort of thing?”

“A thing, thing.”

“A thing, thing.” I think about it.

“Like an interesting thing?”

“Yeah, we always do the same things,” he says.

“So, what should we do?”

N shrugs. We walk on, slowly, looking around. N stops.

“I’ve got something!” he says.

“A thing?”

“Yes, a thing. This way.”

I follow. We go down a few alleys and find ourselves standing in front of a shop window.

“You want to buy a wedding dress?” I ask, eyeing the mannequins.

He shakes his head. “This isn’t a shop. This is the house of frozen brides.”

It looks like a shop, I think.

“It looks like a shop,” I tell him.

“No, this is what happens in Russia when a woman is left at the altar. She turns into a statue and they carry her here. To wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For a man to come and kiss her.”

I frown at the closest bride. “Bit sexist, don’t you think?”

N shrugs. “Maybe they shouldn’t have tried to marry dirt-bags.”

“Dirt-bags,” he says it again, “dirt-bags, I like that term.”

“What if the husband just died or something, like, on his way to the wedding?” I ask.

N sighs, “you’d be the worst to watch a movie with,” he mutters.

“Okay, fine, so what is the thing?”

“Kiss one,” N says, smirking.


“Yeah, let’s go in and kiss one.”

“Like, the same one?”

He shakes his head. “No, no, you kiss one then I kiss one.”

“Then what?”

“We run,” he says, and without waiting for my response, he goes in through the glass doors. I follow. It is bigger inside than I thought. The frozen bride army stretches back at least fifty meters, all lined up and silent. It’s creepy.

“Okay, let’s just do this and go,” I whisper. N nods. He approaches one of the brides.

“On three,” he says. I find the closest bride. Her face is smooth and plastic.

“Man, these are mannequins,” I tell him.

“No harm then,” he says, then without pausing, “one…two…three…”

I kiss my bride. It is dusty and cold. I step back. Nothing.

I turn to N.


But, N isn’t looking at me. He stares ahead. I sigh and look back at the brides, who are of course, moving.

“Huh,” N muses, “now isn’t that something.”

“Well, shit,” I mutter.


To be continued… CLICK HERE for next story.

A Writer and an artist living in Russia

22 Comment on “House of Frozen Brides

  1. Pingback: Best of Flash-365 – FLASH-365

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: