Paradoxically Yours...

AWOL

(prompt: 'lost' 24/11/2017)

"Are you sure?" His voice quivered, filled with a strange mixture of horror and fear - but fascination, too.

"YES-S-S! JUST DO IT QUICKLY THOMAS!" and Harry gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes tight shut as the axe came down with the full force of Thomas' young body.

For a seeming eternity, but probably only moments, there was no blood. Perhaps the shocked minds of the two young boys were mirror-imaged by Harry's body? Thomas watched in disbelief. Maybe it wasn't really happening. A nightmare, surely? His fascination grew by the second, briefly obliterating the horror of what he'd done. But then the blood spurted like a burst pipe all over his chest and his face. He recoiled, shuddering uncontrollably from the sight of his brother's body, slumped on the ground next to the old chopping block. The paralysis of shock was replaced by ear-tingling, heart racing terror. "Mum," he whispered. "Mum," he said out loud. "MUM! HELP!" he screamed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was an ordinary day on the production line at the beer bottling plant. Samuel watched, almost mesmerised as the line of bottles clinked by. A monotonous job, but necessary, to ensure the metal caps locked on tight to hold those precious bubbles inside. Once in a rare while he needed to poke a bottle with his index finger. The topper machine was getting older and occasionally was fractionally off-centre. It wasn't allowed of course, but Samuel figured what the eye couldn't see, the heart wouldn't grieve over, and cheerfully poked away whenever it was needed.

Suddenly, shockingly, alarm bells went off, loudly over the din of the machines, achieving its purpose - to alert all staff something had malfunctioned or an accident had occurred. "What?" "Where?" and many oaths could be heard throughout the vast space as the near-deafening roar of many machines gradually slowed their pace and their bedlam . Necks craned and heads swung every which way, trying to fathom where the trouble had started.

Those closest to Samuel shouted and pointed to him, as some rushed to help their stricken and seriously bleeding workmate, and others ran for help and to spread the word. And though the production line had been stopped as quickly as humanly possible, and exhaustive searches made of the sealed bottles all along the line, the cruelly amputated finger could not be found. Untold boxes were emptied, on the rarest of possibilities THE bottle had moved that far along the line. But it was nowhere. The factory floor was finely-combed by the workers, even more concerned than some would imagine, as part of their daily remuneration was a bottle of beer.

Samuel recovered, learned to live with lessened dexterity, and soon resumed work - in the office of the factory, it's understood. But the finger was never found.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sick to her soul, the mother spies her son's amputated finger laying helplessly on a lump of wood nearby. Despite her repugnance, she carefully wraps it in a clean handkerchief from her pocket. "At least it's not lost completely, like your father's," and the tears begin as she tries to cling to the hope of a miraculous reunion of finger and small hand. "Maybe they can sew it back? Maybe..." She sobs bitterly as she holds her small son tightly with one arm and slips the errant finger into an apron pocket.

It was a brave hope, but Harry's wish to be exactly like his Dad was granted. To the end of their days, both father and son wore their dubious badge of honour - only four fingers on their right hands.