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There had been a time when all he needed for the harvest was a strong arm and a properly sharpened scythe.

That was a long time ago.

The scythe now languished in his tool shed and grew dusty and dull. It was good for small jobs, but the small jobs were so infrequent now it seemed pointless to maintain it.

He looked back on the old days with some fondness. He missed the personal care he could take back then; when he could bring in the harvest by hand his job was more fulfilling. There simply wasn’t enough time to bring in the harvest by hand any more.

He had been forced to mechanise just to keep up. First, he moved from his simple scythe to a horse-drawn harvester, walking behind it to gather in the crops. For a few centuries, that was enough to keep up with the surges in demand, and he could still use the scythe for many jobs in between.

Then the crop ripened further.

By the twentieth century, the crop was falling in such numbers that the only way Death could keep up was with a modern, engine-driven combine harvester.

© Kari Fay

(Author’s Note: Today’s Sunday Scribblings prompt is “Harvest”. I wanted to do something nice, honest, it just wouldn’t go that way…)