The blade against his throat sliced the first layer of his skin, causing his blood to spill. He winced at the sharp, searing pain, his dry throat convulsively gulping, as he tried to find some moisture in his dry mouth. He looked around the room desperately trying to find an escape, only to realize it would take a miracle.
Then, looking into his tormentor’s hate-filled eyes, he spoke bravely, “Why should I fear you? You should have killed me when I was your man. I belong to God now. You may kill my body, but you can’t touch my soul!”
Cheryl A. Showers