It is my pleasure to have Scriptor Obscura as my guest writer. Her blog is one of several to which I subscribe. I have invited her to be a regular guest and I hope you like her work as much as I do.
Image Via Scriptor Obscura
Munich, 1941
by Scriptor Obscura
He wears his best suit,
she clutches her purse.
He holds her arm as they walk away,
leaving behind his great-great grandfather’s Torah
with its cover of gold thread,
sitting on the mantel.
They don’t speak
as they board the streetcar.
Sitting in the back row,
They hold hands, hardly daring
to look at each other.
At the next stop,
a young Gestapo officer boards,
pistol holstered,
his armband a reminder of
the constant presence of death.
The policeman advances down the aisle,
checking each passenger’s papers.
In the back row,
he can’t breathe
his pulse thunders in his ears
she squeezes his hand.
Then he thinks of it.
He can’t tell her.
“You stupid bitch! You worthless cow!
How could you forget our papers?!
You stupid, stupid woman!
How could you do such a thing?!
You good-for-nothing bitch!”
She stares at him, tears of
bewilderment filling her eyes.
Keep crying, he thinks.
It will be more believable this way.
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