“By the power vested in me by the moon and stars, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The shaman’s final blessing, tossed about on the buffeting winds, was the last restraint from her rose petal lips. He beamed at his bride, their faces close.
“A celebration,” the shaman continued, revealing a bottle of divine nectar from his inner robes. After they all finished drinking, the groom put the bottle down.
He turned back, they were both gone.
Instead he gazed upon a desert plain and a kangaroo, hopping quickly away,
And a veil,
carried aloft on the fierce wind.
100 words. On the nose.