Most of the men in the town worked for the sawmill. They worked hard, and the dust from the big whirling blade clung to their sweaty arms and necks.
They washed off the dust each night and collected their pay each week.
One day the blade broke. It made a high sharp noise, and a flying shard sliced into a man's throat.
The man lay on the dust-covered floor, and his life bled away as the others tried to comfort him.
They put a picture of the man on the wall and closed the mill, but only until a new blade arrived.
Copyright 2009
Author's Bio: Sanford Allen hails from San Antonio, Texas. Home of the Alamo and some of the best $2.99 enchilada plates you're likely to find. His fiction has appeared in print and online publications including Sand: A Journal of Strange Tales, Necrotic Tissue and Niteblade. His website is www.sanfordallen.com.
