The Crowded Room — Andi Magaña
short story
☆
short story ☆
At the altar, the parish tears into the body and devours it raw. She is dead and watches them eat her corpse. Her heart is lifting out of her chest and somehow it quickens even though it should not beat at all.
She swam as her dress dragged her under the surface, until the roots finally pulled her under. There were men behind her, and she forced breaths of chilled water down her throat until she sank.
When she awoke, she stood in the corner of the chapel while the whole town sat on the benches among flickering, golden candlelight. When she was alive, she liked to sit by the door. Now, there’s a lump in her throat and herbs in her stomach.
She sees women with veils and men in their finest shoes. All hold in their breaths for as long as possible before taking the tiniest sniff and releasing a huff of air. She watches and feels like she is suffocating with the humidity.
“It’s what’s best,” someone whispers, “For her reputation.” And they sing a hymn.
She hears words about honor and chivalry and wants to beat the dead horse outside but she’s the one already dead.
The priest performs the rites and changes to a feminine pitch to speak her vows. He gestures for everyone to rise, and they all line up in front of the father. He fills his goblet with wine, and she gulps.
The congregation turns to her corpse, then looks to the girl standing in the corner.
"Amen," they say.
The town feasts.
Andi (She/Her) is a humanities enthusiast and lover of literature. A recent English major grad from GA State, she values creativity and opportunities to better her editing and writing skills. In her free time, she enjoys watching historical documentaries, drawing, and visiting new cafes.
