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.

Author Benjamin Davis and artist Nikita Klimov created one story and one picture each day for one year. In May 2018 they published their first book, The King of FU

22 Comment on “House of Frozen Brides

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

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