the woodsplitter's appetite was almost full
the boy and his father had started after lunch
now, dusk left only about 10 candidates for slaughter
maybe eleven
the cracking and spitting of wood giving way
fought to be heard over the humming and coughing engine
the boy felt nothing
as the machine sliced his hand off
just a sense of fitting detachment
watching it drop to the bark and kindling-bits october ground
then the father saw
and he stopped
as the neurons sent the message
yes, you maimed your boy. decapitated.
then he switched off the motor
stopped again
and spoke
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