'Til Death

‘It’s too bad we couldn’t Hire a vicar’, she said, Her gas mask lit with the dying light Streaking through the destroyed roof.

‘Well I suppose they’ve gone Where all vicars end up’, I reply. She shudders a smile in the winter breeze, ‘At least that’s warmer than here’.

We clasp hands by the burnt slab Of what was once an altar, Letting the moment last a little longer. Complete silence, save for the distant gunshots.

‘Do you take me to be your Lawfully wedded husband, Through sickness, health, chaos, Destruction and the end of the world?’.

‘I do’, she says, putting her arms Around my blood stained shirt. ‘Any objections?’ I ask the empty rows of pews, My voice echoing into nothingness.

We exchange rings made Of paperclips, then embrace. The gunshots draw closer. We share a look. Time to move.