The Face of God
His fingers brush against mine, progressing to my wrist and grabbing it tight. An unknown hand holding on to mine, dragging me behind, my wedding ring intact. Blood rushes in my veins as thoughts rush back to the owner of the ring. He hasn't picked up the phone, six times in a row. Maybe he is still on call, his shoulders far away, not for me to lean on. I sometimes envy the stars, all three of them resting comfortably on his shoulders and shining a little less brighter than him. I sometimes envy them, especially at times as these. My head spins just like the earth beneath my feet, preoccupied with thoughts of his smile, his jokes, his tender looks, his silly fights, his promises and mostly just him. I drift off a thousand miles towards him, my feet not moving an inch. Suddenly this strange hand slaps my cheek. "Hold on," the voice commands. I can't. I don't want to. I don't know whether it is the deafening gunshots, the dark misty sky, the bloodied faces, t...