Why shouldn’t it be ours?
Hadn’t we sacrificed as much as everyone? These people had been forced to flee, as had we, and like as not had perished whilst we, who had also lost everything , survived.
So we watched and listened; no-one came or went for weeks.
Then we moved in.
Respecting their possessions, we stacked them carefully in the basement, away from the sticky, prying fingers of our children.
We left only under cover of darkness, kept the blinds closed.
The war ended and still no-one came.
Beginning to relax, we dared to dream.
We should have known better…
Inspired by a book I’m reading at the moment, where an army deserter misappropriates the apartment of a woman who’d fled Paris during the war. Just as he’s beginning to relax, he comes home one evening to see a light on in the living room. Thanks again to Rochelle, for her leadership and patience with the Friday Fictioneers.