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The pain was excruciating.  The bones in his fingers were  cracking.  Yet, he just couldn’t turn her loose.  The hot smoke rose up to torture his nostrils.   His eyes burned.

She struck him wildly with her free arm, and dug her fingernails into the flesh of his forearm, desperately struggling to free herself.  She spat on him,  and cursed for ever knowing him. 

But, he still couldn’t—wouldn’t—turn her loose.  If he did, she would fall like a rock into the boiling fire.  Already,  the flames licked at her feet. 

He held onto the rock with his other hand.  It was secure.  Her weight leaned him over the edge, and the muscles in his back strained in agony.  He knew he couldn’t fall,  the rock would hold him,  but he was loosing his grip.

“Turn me loose!” she cried.  “I don’t need you or anyone. I can make it on my own. Just turn me loose!”

“If I turn you loose,  you’ll fall into the pit!”

“I don’t care.  No one can tell me what to do.  I have rights! Who do you think you are, anyway, that you can tell me what to do. I can do whatever I want to.

“I don’t want to see you burn!” he pleaded.

“I won’t burn,  I know what I’m doing.” She replied with cool arrogance.

 “Let her go!” his daughter demanded.  “It sounds to me like you haven’t forgiven her.  If you had, you would let her go.  She can take care of herself.”

“If she can take care of herself,” he asked, “why is she hanging precariously over the lake of fire?  If I let her go,  she’ll burn horribly, forever!”

“No she won’t.”  His daughter’s response was sincere.  But deceived. 

“Don’t you see her hanging over the pit, with nothing to hold onto but my hand?” he asked. Tears overflowed his eyes, rolling a  contradictory cool stream down his hot cheeks.

“Momma’s all right.  Leave her alone.  Just leave her alone!”

" I can't."