I only give the barest glance at the scar, because I see how people look at mine, instead of at me, when they're not covered as they are now. I stop walking and take his other hand, and answer his story with a matching bit of my own.
"I died, too. They were taking a bus load of us prisoners to a... a camp." I still can't say it. God, I'm such a coward. "The French Resistance blew up a bridge, tried to rescue us, but it all went wrong. I was shot. Then I was here." I don't think he needs every last detail, and some of the story is Maddie's, and some is too horrible to even talk about, but I have told the truth. "What a terrible thing to have in common. I'd've thought it couldn't get much worse than a fondness for Sharktopus."
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Date: 2012-08-14 11:52 pm (UTC)"I died, too. They were taking a bus load of us prisoners to a... a camp." I still can't say it. God, I'm such a coward. "The French Resistance blew up a bridge, tried to rescue us, but it all went wrong. I was shot. Then I was here." I don't think he needs every last detail, and some of the story is Maddie's, and some is too horrible to even talk about, but I have told the truth. "What a terrible thing to have in common. I'd've thought it couldn't get much worse than a fondness for Sharktopus."