Miroku looked at his hand with lifeless eyes. His soul felt empty and unnecessary. Every since he left the others, his body seemed to move on its own, and his brain just slowly contemplated his place in the world. He sat in the abandoned dojo and blinked emotionlessly. His teeth grinded together as his memory subconsciously wandered to his father's death. His body began to shake as his sobbing began. How horrible it was to know how he would die. To dread every minute this curse plagued him. Miroku slid his sleeve up his arm and stared at his hand, silently wishing he could just pull the cloth away and finish himself off. To put an end to his misery and pain seemed like bliss. It was torturing him to think upon his father's death and to have the knowledge that he himself would die the same way. He had given up on finding Naraku. This curse wasn't going to end until it consumed his body. Miroku finally shot up and with empty eyes welled with tears he stumbled outside and pulled a knife from his robes. He put his right hand down on a rock and steadied his body and willed himself to stop sobbing. His left hand raised high with the knife in hand, and he swung the blade down clumsily. The hole on his palm swallowed what remained of his right hand and then disappeared.
"At last..." Miroku muttered through his sobs, "this curse has ended!" Miroku cradled his stump and fell over, slowly dying of blood-lost. "At last..." he muttered.