They hadn’t planned it. Beach City Camp. Meeting like they did.
In order to have done so, one or both of them would have had to mastermind a war.
“It is you, isn’t it?” She beckoned from behind frail fingers clasped tightly to her lips in disbelief.
Internment had taken its toll..
Gaunt flesh, thin as parchment, stretched taut now over brittle bones. A crust of dried spittle, dotted with precious crumbs of fly specked bread, the camps only ration, had formed in the corners of his mouth. Errant flakes of which threatened to break free, as the familiar sound of her voice invoked emotion, setting his lips a quiver.
“I never thought I would see you again.” She whispered, as she huddled down next to him, hovering unsteadily above the urine soaked sawdust covering the floor.
“You know.. You do not deserve an apology.”
“Nor do I.”
“You, simply chose the wrong moment in time to succumb to your own vile jealousies.”
“I, had no way of knowing occupation was just around the corner when I sought your imprisonment.”
She reached out, brushing a still feeding bedbug from the nape of his neck. Then continued on, allowing her arm to gently encircle her husbands shriveled shoulder.
“All of that seems so senseless now. So trivial. So much silt.”
This piece incorporates a phrasal prompt I saw a week or so ago on a site, new to me, created by Peter Wyn Mosey. I also included the first of three phrasal prompts offered this week by tnkerr on the OLWG #128.
The phrases were respectively, You do not deserve an apology and beach city camp meeting.