The ripples and tracks in the water were violently scintillating. His hands were beginning to shake and stiffen as though his wrists were throats and the early October morning chill was strangling the life out of them while he continued to dig for another rock to skip - burying them into what felt like a crate of Alaskan snow. Sifting through tarnished, off-white shells and cracked stones; Boyd was determined to crop her out of the images in his mind for as long as his mind could be bare without her. She would bleed back into it before sunrise. He would never understand and would wish for death again because maybe then, she finally would. He had hell in his heart and it was freezing over. She didn’t have a leg to stand on, not anymore.