There was once a girl who was very in love. Her story is the same as any other story ever written, except for lack of characterization. She had no face, no name, and her arms and legs had been severed from her body in a terrible shaving accident. Her boyfriend, ironically, was named Blade.

Blade loved this girl very much, as well, and had decided so right after she had pronounced her own love. Her blank expression was empty enough for Blade to drain himself in.

The two lovers were light and gay. They felt the happiness of their own endorphinal glory every day when they received reassurance after they both blew each other a kiss in the wind. The kiss, itself, was carried off with the small particles of debris, searching and souless, a stimulus with no reception, a falling tree when no one is around, traveling the nude and grotesque body of the earth, taking the identity of the girl and her lover with them. Such lost DNA knows no mercy. This was the revenge of the girl's severed limbs, silently plotting to peel everythin away from their soft shelled bodies, just as they had been, tearing their selves apart, a strip tease disguised as love, until finally, nothing was left.