It wasn't really in his plans, getting stuck at a factory like this. Coming here day after day, week after week, weeks slowly piling up into months and years. Once, he wanted to be something different. Someone that could change the world - influence it for the better, or at least leave a mark in the passing. To have a fancy job with a fancy car and take half a year's worth of vacations in a warmer hemisphere. But then, a friend told him that there was a place with decent pay that could employ without looking for fifty years of prior experience, and he fell to the trap. And damn, the trap was good.
There was no need to worry, no need to think too hard, the people around were nice and the pay was decent. He was safe there. Secure. There was no need to take any risks for years. Even his friendships were all safe. Nobody to know him too well, nobody to get too close, just casual acquaintances to chat with over a mug of beer on the day off. Good guys, too, of course. All was fine. But lately, he began feeling that something was amiss.
He wasn't sure what it was, or where. It could've been that the factory had turned to some sort of a lunatic asylum, with people talking about seeing squirrels, fighting over women and trying to kill themselves in the restroom over something or another. It could be that. Or it could've been something else - his dreams of glorious life ahead of him pulling him again, telling to stop with the nonsense and make a leap. And see where it all goes from there.
He sighed and lifted his head, casting a tired glance around him. The conveyor belt stretched from right to left, carrying all manner of electronic things he never cared to learn the names of. Dozens of blank concentrated faces surrounding the conveyor, putting the devices together and sending them onwards. He chuckled to himself. Working here for so long and never learning any names. Temporary thing. Damn.
He glanced over his shoulder, looking for the clock on the wall. Almost the end of the shift. He stretched out lazily, relaxing in his chair and shrugging to the questioning gaze of the neighbour lady, whatever her name was. Odd. He had good memory once.
Maybe it was time to go? To leave the factory behind? To try out everything else that the world had to offer, even though he could well fail - there was always this place to come back to in such a case... Yeah, why not? He got up and headed to the foreman's office - or rather, cubicle, looking around himself as if seeing an old, cozy home for the last time. Well, in a way, it was his cozy home. The grayness. The bright lights. The humming, the whirring and the clanking. The dry air with a faint smell of metal and plastic. The faint voices of the workers, occasional shrieks and laughter - usually from those temporary kids - and the work that never got too boring.
"I won't be coming tomorrow", he said to the foreman casually. The man nodded, turning his head away from a screen. "Taking an extra off?"
The man hesitated before responding to his superior, his eyes wandering the ceiling. "No. I'm quitting tomorrow. Sudden decision, but the contract allowed those. Sorry, boss"
The foreman nodded again. "Remember to return all the tools and keys to me before you leave today, then"
The man nodded and walked out of the room. It was done. He grinned. No big words of farewell, no claims of being missed. And he actually hesitated with this decision.
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I think this is your best work so far.
ReplyDeleteOf the general writings or of the Factory ones?
ReplyDeleteDefinitely of the factory ones. I'd even go so far as to say of any of your writings.
ReplyDeleteHmm, I'd disagree with the latter, but that's my opinion on the thing. It has a few flaws. Maybe of the type though, yes, but if I were to pick things I think I got better, the recent ICHD and the earlier OAN would rank higher than this.
ReplyDeleteHave to say that writing about "ordinary" people in an "ordinary" setting is certainly more hard than it might look.
Well, I'm certainly no critic, like I've said many times before. ;) This story seemed to have a smoother flow to it than the others.
ReplyDeleteUm... ICHD and OAN? You lost me there.
"I called her Death" and "On an autumn night"
ReplyDelete