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, the slaying of humanity, the wailing cries or the mere fact that I had thrown up twice earlier this morning. I don't know what it is that makes me not want to hold on. But the hand wouldn't leave. For a moment, I look at the hand and trace it upwards, towards a rugged face with messed up hair, blood trickling down his forehead and soot covered cheeks, his other hand holding an older woman- panic stricken. "Please hold on, you'll be fine," the voice says again as he runs forward with shoes torn and soles sodden. For reasons unknown, I find myself running towards the direction he runs, towards a better lane, towards safety, towards nowhere. He suddenly kneels, heaves a sigh and points out at something. A rescue vehicle. He opens the door, lets me in and utters those words, "Take care, young lady", his eyes glinting beneath the wrinkles. 

I don't remember much of what happened after he ran back into the darkness until the ringing phone wakes me up. Finally! Finally, he has got time to return my calls. Unlike other times, I am not mad at him. Not even a little. Not even at all. I swipe the green dot in a haste.

"Are you alright?" he hurriedly asks.

"Yes, we are"

"We?

"I and well, your..."

"Really?"

"Yes"

"Say it, just say it" I can almost hear his heart thumping.

"Yes, I'm pregnant."

"Oh my God!" he screams, his voice excited than ever.

"He already left," I mutter and look out at the sky.