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Weekly Contest #65
Wilted carnations nestled upon Gina’s palms, their color so dark a crimson it resembled frozen blood on a disregarded wound. Owen traipsed over the barbed wires encircled two feet away around a small grave and asked her to come over. But she didn’t move a single step, didn’t utter a single word, didn’t even look at him for a split second. Owen ignored her, then. It was pointless, she was pointless, the whole graveyard was pointless. Why did he ask her to sleep there again? A heavy sigh passed through his lungs, his lips. He started to shiver...
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