Page 167 of Into the Heartless Wood

I say: “You have my heart.”

I thrust him away from me

and plunge my hand

into my chest.

His voice is far away as

he screams

my name.

I hardly hear him.

My life is beating in my hands,

warm

soft

wet.

I count the pulses:

one

two

three

four.

And then I tear it out.

I crumple to the ground,

my heart

in

my

hand.

For one single moment more, I am aware.

There is the rain,

the grass,

the burning wood.

Then

there

is

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