My hands were blistered from the ropes I held. As I looked behind me, all I could see in this unpigmented scenery was the trail of blood that trickled from my damaged hands. I was the only one here. Alone. The snow was getting deeper, enough to where it seemed I was floating in mid air. My body was numb by the bitter atmosphere, to where my arms and legs felt absent. When I forced my eyes to look up, I could still see the light I so longed to reach over the hill in the distance. My legs locked in place, and my knees dived into the plush snow, and I began to weep. “Why father, why do you leave me to suffer?” Then he answered, “It is not I who put you there, but your own actions.” I answered back in anger, “How can you say I am responsible for this suffering? I would never choose this fate.” He answered back in a voice as meek as the sound of waves, “Look at what you carry in your hands. Was it not I who who gave you the legs to get you to the light in the distance? However, it was not me who gave you that baggage in your hands.” “I looked down at my blistered hands, and I released my clinched fingers, blooded stained my hands, pain numbed my wrist, but it was a good pain. A pain that would lead me to my freedom. My body fell in the white abyss, and I fell asleep. When I awoke, I reached the light over the hill.