The snow crunches as the shovel tears a hole through it.

A hole deep enough to hold the anger

I had against myself.

Deep enough to hold the cuts and bruises

I had inflicted upon my reflection, I'm

I'm done for now. The rage has faded.

It's time to bury the hatchet.

With the body.

The hole is shallow enough to hold me,

And the snow shovels itself in-

When I lay myself down in my grave-

Covering my broken body, suffocating me,

Numbing my wounds, and with the cold burning though my flesh,

I feel redeemed at last.

I try to laugh.

I try to laugh, I cannot.

~Fin~

-Book Three Concludes-