I met someone like me once – a human who doesn’t die – and discovered a missing part of my life’s story. Up until the morning I stumbled upon her in that crumbling and gutted house, I thought I was cursed. But she helped me hear the still, small voice and finally understand. She opened my eyes to the power seeded deep within my heart and soul, that power which propelled me so distant from the whispers, and finally grasp its meaning.
I could finally grasp my purpose.
She also gave what I am – what we are – a name. Some call us chosen or blessed, but she called us The Touched, because “we are more than just chosen for this path we walk, Abe,” she told me, eyes bright and shining. “We are touched by our destiny’s Designer. His hand never lifts from us. Never are we alone in what we are called to accomplish.”
Once I held that truth, it served as the greatest key to unlocking my power.
She could not guess how many others there were, or if I would ever come upon another, but she did enough by opening the door to my weapon against the shadows. What could another do for me when I had that?
Despite the whispers of lies and half-truths, I continue, now with deliberate determination. I have my weapon, the skill to wield it, and the light for my path – all else is nothing but a momentary shadow.