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mountains.<br />
“You aren’t serious.” T<strong>here</strong> was clear panic in its voice.<br />
I didn’t respond. I pulled the car down a snowy dirt road into<br />
the woods.<br />
“I don’t believe you would actually do it. The pain would be<br />
too intense.”<br />
I stopped the car and got out. I grabbed the axe and walked a<br />
few feet into the stark forest. The crunch of ice-covered snow under<br />
my shoes was the only sound -- besides the increasingly panicked<br />
voice of my tail.<br />
“Okay. Maybe I went too far. We can forget Helena. I swear.”<br />
I stopped and undid my belt, then the button of my pants.<br />
“What if you get an infection? You’re no surgeon. You don’t<br />
even know w<strong>here</strong> the nearest hospital is. And what would you tell<br />
them anyway.”<br />
I dropped my pants and my boxers. The chill of winter air<br />
wafted around my legs.<br />
“Stop. I am serious. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. I<br />
swear.”<br />
I turned around and pulled the axe up. It was awkward to be<br />
twisted around as I was. But I thought with one swift stroke I could<br />
do it -- quickly -- one brief shock of pain. Then it would be over.<br />
“Please?”<br />
I clenched the handle of the axe and squinted.<br />
T<strong>here</strong> was silence.<br />
I waited, axe held high.<br />
Nothing.<br />
I dropped my arm and let the axe lay by my side.<br />
“Are you t<strong>here</strong>?” I asked.<br />
T<strong>here</strong> was only the sound of a light breeze and the occasional<br />
crunch of snow falling from a tree limb.<br />
My plan seemed to have worked.<br />
I pulled up my pants, grabbed the axe and returned to my car.<br />
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