A Solemn Broken Heart.

The lady solemnly walked into Hillside Brethren Church that morning. 

It was on the seventh of July, the year two thousand and seventeen. 

She clad herself in a vintage wedding dress from the hire store, and there couldn't have been a prettier or happier bride within its seams. 

However, her mood betrayed her beautiful outfit. 

She looked around in awe, resentment written all over her countenance. 

"Why? Why?" 

She screamed at the top of her lungs. She dialed Oliver's number on her phone and, 

"Hello," she said as she struggled to hold back her tears. 

 "Why have you called me? I told you we're over!" 

The voice responded coldly over the phone.

 "You didn't do it Oly... Tell me this is all a big fucking joke. Tell me Oly..." 

The woman shrieked.

 "Hello... hello... Oly." 

The phone had already been hung up from the other end.

 "No... This can't be. It can't be. I must be dreaming." 

She shut her eyes repeatedly and opened them only to affirm her suspicion was not mistaken. 

She threw her phone out of anger; further away from where she was standing, and sat on the dusty wooden floor. 

Its painting was done by a master with great prowess in his line of duty;

The wooden floor was a chorus of browns; they sang together, a Capella of baritone hues that rose into vibrant soprano notes. 

It was indeed a fitting place that had been chosen for the union of two souls.

 The woman was a young lass, twenty five years old; to be precise, yet she had already tasted the bitter cup of a broken heart. 

She was imp-thin with a glossy dark skin. Her Titian-red, coiled hair tumbled over her shoulder. An involuntary whimper escaped her pouting, sherbet lips. Her bottom lip quivered and her shoulders consequently dropped in resignation. 

"This can't be!" She was sobbing.

Her body appeared calm, compared to how tangled her hazy mind was. She could not help but cry her heart out. 

A flood of tears -which seemed to flow faster than her heartbeat- gushed down her ashen cheeks. She buried her face in her moist palms and mumbled incoherent things through her hands.

 She did not realize it when dusk had begun to set in; the vibrant sun had set in paving the way for darkness to reign supreme. There was no moonlight that evening. 

The lady thought she was all alone but the moon had hidden itself from the inhumane world to grief of the broken lass's heart together with her.

There was no one she could run to for comfort and assurance, or was there? No one to cry too. No one to explain to the pain she bore within her delicate heart. Even if there was such a person, how could she trust him/her if the person whom she trusted wholeheartedly shattered her trust into a trillion pieces? She was not going to trust ever again, even if that was the last thing to do on earth.

"Whatever is destined to happen on the face of the earth must eventually come to pass. Most of the time, the world won't give you what you desire. You have to accept whatever the world slaps on your face and move on." The parson comforted her.

Despite feeling his wise words had touched the bottom of the lass's heart, he was unknowingly giving medicine to a dying soul.

 'If this is the definition of destiny, then man is designated to design his destiny.' She thought to herself.

 She sadly recalled her first encounter with Oly; and their consequent ones, until the last time -which she didn't know was their final 'friendly' meeting. 

 -----------------------------------

Her first impression of him was larger than words, so much so that only her soul could see it. Oly walked into her life like a god -or so she thought. 

She locked eyes with him at first sight, on the subway station which was coincidentally alive with the sound of a spirited violin. 

Funny enough, had it been another person she would have abruptly shifted her gaze even before a second passed by, but then, this was an entirely different situation altogether. 

Just as flowers open in spring, her face blossomed in emotional warmth; for the first time in eternity. For the first time; she knew the true meaning of happiness. This was a vocabulary in the dictionary of her life.

He was handsome from the depth of his hazel eyes to the gentle expressions of his deep voice. 

He was even more handsome from his generous opinions to the touch of his hand upon her own. 

She loved the way his voice quickened when he sparkled with a new idea or was so enjoying one of hers; she lost herself for a moment and quite forgot the mask she wore for the world. 

So she, -without thinking twice- gave him her heart and kept him safe, that's the way it was.

She was pleased to find someone who 'cherished' her in this world which she often described as savage. 

At least he could read her faster than a tweet. The smile - anxious - she was eager to please him. Eccentrically, she stuck by his side even when she had proof he had eyes on another lass. 

He openly portrayed multiple red flags which she painted white in her naive mindset. She tried hard to be better than her normal self, just for a man who had well-articulated plans to dump her. 

At least he'd gotten what he wanted in the end. She had sworn to herself that even if loving him was a losing game, she would play hard until he called the quits. 

After all, isn't it better to try and fail than fail to try? This way, she was sure he'd chose her but -too bad- that is not how fate is.

There are times when bad luck comes, and then you wait to see what the universe and you can make of it, how you can make something good come from something so very awful. 

She sat there, on the wooden floor and cried of her foolishness. She could do her best to make something beautiful grow from the ashes of what she loved so much; but could she make something beautiful from a broken heart? 

How could the world adore it? The savage world would just pass by and scorn her. Her only consolation was none other than revenge. There was no turning back. She had made up her mind. She vowed to prove her worth to the man who just walked out on her, thinking she was worse than a worthless, naive, young woman whom he could take advantage of and go scot free.

She didn't cry any more, she didn't even sob. Her tears had run dry. She wiped her eyes with the back off her hands and stood up from the dusty floor. She boldly walked out of the church as though she was confounded with some supernatural power.