A Wedding Story

Born from heat, from fire, my segments are left to cool. I am put together, one part on another, until my complete body is clothed decadently with white, pink, clothing that sticks to my flesh. It covers me entirely, my sight obscured, I can only hear sounds; running, smashes, stressed voices shouting. I smell nothing but sweet stickiness, now I hear nothing. I sit, wait, anticipating something. Or anticipating nothing. Is this my existence, to sit, to wait, to ponder? No, voices come, I am moving (what am I on, how do I move?) toward sound. Melodies, exciting, bold, joyful. Loud. For once I am thankful for my clothes, muffling the noise. Others, too. Talking, moving, (with the music?) singing. I feel looks, taking me in, looking at my clothes that someone put on me. Music stops, people group around me. Voices talking, people pressing in, closer. Temperature rises, what is happening? There is excitement, tension, joy, lots of joy, hope, and something else, deep, boundless, new, exciting. What is it? There is plenty of it, and it is the source of the joy, the hope, the excitement. I can't sense it, can't articulate it. And I can't feel it myself, though I am aware of it. But I'll leave it for now, I can feel a small group of people nearing me, full of this indescribable feeling. Pouring it out to each other, giving it, receiving it in plenty. How long can two people keep it up, this relentless outpouring of emotions, freely pouring out this thing to each other.
Everything is quiet. Mysterious clicks accompanying painful flashes out light, even through my clothes. The two people are next to me, next to each other. More clicks, more painful flashes, then my world is turned over. An incredible, indescribable agony on my bottom segment. Like a piece of my body is being carved from my whole. Something cutting through clothes, through my flesh. Then scooped cleanly away. It is over, this pain, though it lingers, helped along by a multitude of loud clicks, pops, claps, and flashes of light. More people come, smelling like my clothes. They talk, they gather around me. Next, with an almighty wrench, they are trying to pluck my head cleanly off my body. They fail, my head falls with a squelch and a plop, back onto its resting place. But they grip me again, and with a painful wrench they-