A One

A flash fiction from a recent writing group.

            Vanessa had been the one.  I had been her one, until I found she had two; I was not the one but a one.  Now she was marrying the other one.  Such succulent food for the reception… this man they hired is making stuffed turkey, caviar linguini, sautéed mushrooms in bacon and chard sauce.  The whole nine yards.  Such nice champagne.  I can’t read the label from up here, but the smells of cooking food are wafting up and literally intoxicating me.

            You may ask why I am on the roof, watching the chef cook the food for my ex fiancée’s wedding.  I actually came here to crash the wedding, wearing my nice white tux with the baby blue bowtie.  But then I smelled the food - I  have a fantastic sense of smell - and I followed my nose up the fire escape and onto the roof, where I located a skylight and could see the delicious feast cooking below me.

            I may still crash this wedding but only to get a bite of that linguini and to snag a bottle of champagne.  That’ll show her.  I wonder why there are no dishes that include A1 sauce, since, you know, her soon-to-be-husband is not the one, but a one.  Sigh.  Vanessa always did say I had a stupid sense of humor.

            Suddenly, I feel something wet slap against the back of my neck.  I reach back to feel it and when I bring my hand to my eyes, I see that my fingers are covered in pigeon s**t.  Being severely grossed out, I try to wipe the rest of the mess from my neck, only to slip on the glass that makes up the skylight and topple off the roof.  Ugh, now the headlines will read “Well-Dressed Man Falls Off Roof” as opposed to “Well-Dressed Man Splashes Bride with A1 Sauce in the Name of Justice.”