I was splitting logs. As I swung the axe, I felt myself crack — from the middle of my skull, vertically down my spine, through my crotch.
The axe stuck in the log and started laughing. Me? I divided into two perfect halves of Thomas.
Each hopped in place on its one leg, waving its one arm, shaking its half head. Until the two of them lost their balance, fell into each other, and rolled back together to the cabin.
There was no blood.