Martha Whittington

A Touch without A Feel Martha Whittington

Fragment taken from this story: He puts his hand on my shoulder without a warning; he's still behind me. I'm blinded now. My shoulder burns under his touch. Strong personality. Child pornography. Knife collection. Vietnam veteran. Loving father. Tempestuous. Enjoyed killing during war. Obsessive. Child molester. Maniac-depressive. Poker player. Racist. I fall down on my knees. I still can't see anything else. I am blinded. He kicks me in the face. I land on my back. I slowly start seeing St. Michael the archangel's huge statue, next to me. St. Michael looks larger than I remembered a moment ago. He now seems to be looking down at Ron, while brandishing his powerful sword in the air. He seems ready to take Ron's life with his mighty sword. Please don't, St. Michael. Spare his life. She loved him dearly. My nose is bleeding; I think it's broken. I see Ron walking toward me now; I try to move. He takes a gun out of his raincoat and aims it at me."Nothing more than a stray dog! But you meant the world to her. Answer me this: Why? Why?"His voice is a thunder that noisily collides with the tall ceilings above us."I should have killed you long ago. She would have gotten over you; she would have turned to me for refuge. I would have protected her forever ... but you came back.""Mr. Thomas, put the gun down!" I hear Frank's voice echoing as well. Ron Thomas keeps looking down at me; he still points his gun at me. I think this is the end. He will take me down. I can see he hates me very much. Back then, all I wanted was a real family, Ron. I was so lonely."Why did she have to love you so much?" He kneels down next to me. I can't speak. I look up at St. Michael's statue, behind Ron; I can't think of a better view to be my last before I die. I'm ready to go.