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Factory Slave

I was sitting alone in a wide green field, surrounded by clusters of daisies flourishing in the warm sunlight. The sweet smell of springtime was all around, and the melodic hum of the bees was complimented by the gentle trickle of a brook nearby. The air was clean and fresh, and it invigorated me just to breathe it in. this place was paradise; not a care, not a worry in the world.
"Abigail!"
I was snapped out of my daydream by the familiar, abrasive voice of the factory overseer, Mr. Levitt. He was a rather broad man, with greedy, piggy eyes and an underbite that gave him a constant glowering expression. Mr. Levitt was currently prowling between the assembly lines barking orders and dealing out smacks where he felt they were needed. As he made his way towards me, I felt my entire body tense in anticipation of his punishing blows.
“Daydreaming again, I see,” he spat, shaking a fat finger in my face. “That’s the fourth time this week I’ve caught you dilly-dallying on the job. Next time I see you neglecting your duties, you’re out of here!” And with that, he turned on his heel and continued his tirade down the line.
A ripple of fear ran through my body. Fired? Who would feed my family? After my father had died of the city sickness, I was the main source of income for my mother and two sisters. If we lost what little money I made every week, we wouldn’t be able to pay the rent on our tenement house, and would end up on the streets. I silently vowed to keep my wandering mind in check.
Stifling a groan, I returned to the mundane task at hand. The whirring of the massive spinning jenny’s filled my ears as I tirelessly checked the machines countless times, keeping track of the thread produced hour after hour. Twenty minutes before my shift was over, the unthinkable happened.
A blood-curdling shriek pierced the clacking of the looms as a commotion erupted somewhere to my left. A large crowd gathered around the source of the scream, so that I had to nudge my way through to get a glimpse of that had happened. When I finally pushed through, I saw a small girl, younger than me, whimpering in pain on the floor. She was cradling her right arm and the front of her dress was splattered with blood, as was the floor around her. I froze in shock when I realized she was missing a hand.
She must have gotten caught in the wheel on the spinning frame she was stationed at. It wasn’t a rare occurrence for people to lose a finger or two around here, but I had never seen someone lose more. It was horrifying.
Two other workers rushed to the middle of the crowd and pulled the little girl to her feet, rushing her to the small first aid room we were lucky enough to have. As we watched them half-carrying her away, I heard Mr. Levitt grumble about the unreliability of workers these days.
Because the machine was short a worker, I was forced to take in the injured girl’s post. Six excruciatingly long hours later, I was finally allowed to go home.
As I trudged back to my family’s tiny, two-room apartment, visions of the poor little girl flitter through my exhausted mind. The alleyway I was walking down was completely filthy, with the rubbish strewn everywhere being feasted upon by beady-eyed rats. I could see people crammed into small rooms as the thick grey smog loomed overhead, hovering menacingly over the city. The air was harsh and dirty as I made it to our apartment.
After a quick word with my work-weary mother, I fell, exhausted, into the bed I shared with my sisters. As I turned to get comfortable, I could see the large smokestacks silhouetted in the weak moonlight, spewing their venomous fog into the inky sky. It was then that I realized it; I was a slave to those smokestacks, for no matter how much I hated them, they were the only thing keeping me alive. There was no was to escape the vicious cycle I had been unwillingly thrown into. I was trapped.