He knelt over Ishamís body. Once they had been friends, associates, but no more.
He felt so numb, so lost, so confused, so cold and alone. Then, his father touched him. Just a simple touch on the shoulder, but it communicated everything he needed.
Filling him with comfort and warmth, it assured him he was not alone; he was a part of a family.
That simple touch assured him of his fatherís love and support. His father, the man he had killed his friend to protect, the one man whose simple touch was all he had ever wanted. Ever.
-----d.b.brisbin, April 2010
Rummaging around in the attic, looking for a box that Teresa wanted, he jumped when the old book hit the floor unexpectedly, moaning when the last few pages slipped out.
He bent and picked up the old journal seeing the dated pages. Putting them in order, he recognized his fatherís handwriting, although it wasnít his usual steady penmanship.
Upon placing the last page in the book, he noticed his name and began to read:
Today I lost my faith. I have damned God and the entire world. What have I done to be punished so?
One son Iím black mailed into leaving with his grandfather, now, this morning, I awoke to find Maria gone, taking the very core of my heart with her, my son John.
Here I sit, lost and ready to die. Iíll give up the ranch, anything, just to hold him in my arms again.
Johnny saw dried water droplets on the page, and as he closed the book, a few tears of his own slipped onto the page. ----- d.b.brisbin, April 2010