Ray Bradbury - The Scythe

And then sobbing wildly, with a fierce unrelenting insanity of vengeance against Fate in every muscle, he rose above the grain again and again and hewed to left and to right and to left and to right and to left and to right. Over and over and over! Slicing out huge scars in green wheat and ripe wheat. With no selection and no care, cursing, over and over, swearing, laughing laughter that was not his own any more. The blade swung up in the rising sun and came down in the sun, singing and whistling.