“Come back!” Lon begged. “The old man will be thrilled to see you. It’s not like what you’ve got now is real work.”

Lon shouted the last sentence over the whir of the handsaw, as Jack ignored him and kept working. The whir bent into a demonic pitch as it dug into a firmer layer. Jack was hunched intently, managing only intervals before having to pause and wipe his face shield. Lon waited patiently for Jack to finish the cut.

“Why would he in any way be thrilled to see me?” Jack asked, appraising his groove. “Our last meeting was not all ‘Merry Christmas’ and ‘I love you’. Although, it was snowing.”

The saw whirred back to life, but Jack stopped it abruptly – “Don’t forget, he still has a contract on me.” He resumed cutting on a different section.

Lon shook his head. “It’s not the same,” he shouted. “He’s much more reasonable in his old age.”

A stray piece caught the blade and shot across the room, smacking the wall with a thud, defying gravity. Jack looked up.

“And you need practice,” Lon smirked.

View this story's 1 comments.