He [Pat] pushed a little wheat onto the edge of the shovel, then swung the thing around with such sudden force that the wheat might have actually made it onto the truck, if only he hadn’t let go of the shovel. But he did let go of it, and it went sailing through the air like a silver spaceship until my forehead stopped it.
You’ve killed me! I cried. I slipped down onto the pile of wheat, blinking wildly and clutching at my wounded forehead.
I’m sorry! I’m sorry! he shouted.
I felt quite numb all over, as if I weren’t really there.
I see three angels with golden trumpets, I informed him.
At this point he began to blubber.
Don’t die! he cried.
It’s too late. I responded. You’ve killed me, and now I’m going to die.
They’ll probably hang you, I added as an afterthought.