You are living a pure life without hate or anger. You tip a imaginary hat at nuns when you pass by them. You still hang out at the library a lot. One day you encounter a nun from your earlier days of conflict. You smile at her and she sends you back a mean hateful scowl. She pulls out her sharpened yard stick and it gleams in the light. You step back holding up your arms in a "Hey I don't want no trouble lady", gesture. She lashes out and one of your hands hits the floor with a soft thud. Blood spurts from the wound. You look her in the eyes and ask "Why?". She swings the yard stick three times, each swing cuts deep. Your body falls down, covering your severed hand and blood pours out like your a broken bottle.
The End