Thank you Michael for this week’s prompt:
A Touch of Magic
He could feel the heat before she actually touched him.
On contact, she sought out the source with sensory butterfly fingers.
No massage or pressure, no potions or pills, no oils or creams.
Just the simple touch of her hand, and the pain would disperse.
Never in the same place twice, she would find the trauma in his body, and lay her hand on his skin.
Contented, trusting and mellow, he would feel it leave him, and sleep.
No medication had ever had this effect.
He was almost whole again.
Today, the curtain of darkness would rise and he would see her for the first time, a woman who had given everything for him to become again the man he used to be.
Today the final act had come and she knew that as the curtain fell, he would shun her .
Gently, she put her fingertips to his closed eyelids.
He felt a tingling as small stars of light suddenly became images out of the shadows he had lived with for so long.
Totally spent, she shrank from him as if swallowed and regurgitated by the fabric of the cushion upon which she sat.
Old, wizened and almost bald, this creature was covered in the warts, grotesque growths and open ulcers she had extracted from him.
Only her hands, with their long tapered fingers of healing, remained elegant and unmarked.
He thought she was beautiful.