The cleaver fell; skin, muscle and bone offered a rather meager resistance. With a final tack the blade stuck in the chopping board. Lauren cleaned her hands on the apron, then wiped the sweat from her forehead. She stared at the leg on her working bench, a good piece, it would go for a hell of a price. She turned around and looked at the next tube, the version of herself thin and stringy, the expression empty like the hundreds before and the hundreds that would follow.
So, my entry for the Flash Fiction Challenge hosted weekly on Chuck Wendig’s marvelous blog about writing and stuff. Go there, It’s a quite interesting reading.