Barren. Lifeless. Cold. Snow. Wind.
The wind whips the powder along the ground.
A fine mist rises off the snow in the wind.

Blood. Freezing. Dying. Dead. Gone.
It cannot be. No, this can’t be happening.
Not here in this pure beauty. No.

Moving. Swirling. Living. Dying. Reaching.
Can’t let this be the end. This isn’t the end.
This is the beginning, not the end.

Her. Dead. Stabbed. Martyr. Frozen.
Nothing can be done about it now. She can’t have died in vain.
She wouldn’t want me to be bitter. She would want me to continue.

Mission. Helping. Love. Hope. Heaven.
And I will honor her memory.
I will move on.