Later, when she came around for her things and to slaughter the unworthy, run-around swine, she was sore and surprised. Nothingness replaced her remaining belongings. Empty space. No body in the vulnerable, blistering void. No deliciously severed prize-pig tonight. She swung and raised her axe suddenly and lashed out at the supple earth beneath her. With a primitive roar, she split the soil and rendered the merciless exposure of the private confines of anthills and tree roots. The weapon wedged in the ground and mocked her: sharp, tall, upright.
She abandoned the axe. She trudged through the gardens. Collapsed in the car, and finally awoke.