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Eternally Yours

By P. Lowe

Copyright 2012

Smashwords Edition


Gretchen

My parents were killed when I was born. I was their killer. I was an only child. I cannot touch people, and they cannot touch me. If they do, then they die. I carry those I touch on my back as a reminder that I have taken their lives. Each life I absolve becomes a sort of tattoo on my back I choose not to get to close to those around me. The only problem is –if I do not absolve a life for a while I become weak. I need to feed. I need to absolve in order to live. I wish sometimes that this was not me, but it is .I grew up wondering why no one would touch me. This was tricky when I was a baby. I still do not know how I was able to be fed, coddled, or changed when I was baby. I was never told of my affliction. I wondered all my childhood why no one would hug me or let alone touch me. I discovered the souls on my back when I was 10, when I forced a hug onto an aunt. With it came pain and aching all over my body and she was no more. She had withered in my arms. The pain was located on my back. I felt her there. I ran to the mirror to see what had happened. There in the mirror were the faces tattooed on my back. There were many of them. I was frightened; I just wanted to feel the touch of someone. I had not been touched before and just wanted that feeling of love. When she was no more, I was saddened yet fulfilled. I was full on the inside, yet saddened at the loss of her as well. I learned then that day what I was. I am not sure what you would call me. But that day I learned that to touch was both satisfying and saddening.


I could feel the ones that wanted to be absolved. I have spent many a day searching for that one person I could touch that would not be missed. I can feel them you see. I can feel them want to touch me. It is like a link. They look at my body and feel this electricity in their body that calls to me. The only thing that is not right is that it always seems to be someone who is a loner. There is no other family or friends for them. I seem to give them salvation. I give them what it is that they desire, and they fulfill a hunger for me. It is almost as if I am ending their pain. I send them onto a better place. I feel as if I am doing them a favor. They want to be touched by me and they want to no longer be in a pain that grows deep inside them. I believe people now call it assisted suicide. They do not look like they feel pain. They only have a look of pleasure on their faces as I touch them and their pain ends.

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