Read The Writer :: The Writer

I've been showing him my stories for awhile. I feel blessed to have someone critique what I wrote. "Your writing is unique in its own right. This will give you a chance to show the world what you can do. Just remind yourself that you're worthy of things working out. That you are capable." He said this anytime doubt crept up on me. Cheered me on in the best way possible he could. He was wise and not everyone who aged became this way. They learned through experiences and evolving over time. I spent the rest of the night with him going over my story that I wrote. He kept telling me it was an interesting concept and expected no one else to write anything similar to it.

It was so late I decided to leave and go to bed. I would have to get up early tomorrow and go to my labor intensive job. It did not work my mind, but my body. Wasn't the most exciting thing for me to do, but I needed money to live. Otherwise I'd end up penniless.

I ran to work the next day. I had trouble sleeping after everything that happened previously. Sweat beat down my face as I sped through the crowd. It was a busy day. Everyone was rushing to work or either enjoying the day off. I arrived at the factory just on time and punched in. It was a beautiful day, and I wished I was outside to enjoy it. Instead I stepped up on the metal stairs to my work area. With each step the metal made a terrible creaking noise. I was surprised that they didn't break under anyone's weight yet.

It was a work hazard. Not like anyone really cared around here for the workers that much. I finally arrived at my designated station and my workmate near me who was always chatting turned to me and had an annoying grin plastered onto his face. I wanted to slap it off, but of course I didn't. It would've been satisfying. The sound the slap would make against those chubby cheeks.

"Oh, my dear old boy. I heard you entered that competition. Got to be happy where you are in life. Can't keep hoping for the impossible to happen. You'll be here for the rest of your workable years with us." I sat down and responded with a nonchalant attitude. "Whatever you say." The men around him looked uneasy with what this fat pig said. People like this made me sick. Thinking they know how everyone's life would turn out. Knowing what people are capable of with one simple look.

An irreversible stupidity that swelled up in their brain like a disease. The assumption and the nerve. I would never treat another person like this. Especially not a colleague with a goal, and hope for a better life. I was not one to squash another's dreams. The bell sounded and work would begin soon.

I was glad to have something to take that dastardly comment out of my mind. I didn't need it bouncing through my mind like ping pong. I put the parts of the toys together mindlessly. Stacking piece by piece on top of each other. All while making sure they fit together just right. The metal conveyor belt kept sending the pieces down in an orderly line. Everyday here my soul was crushed. I was worried I'd become as bitter as chubby cheeked next to me. I doubt he even brushed his teeth. Such rancid breath every time he spoke.

The time went by quick thankfully. I decided to stay a little longer and help clean up. It would hep me not to ruminate over everything that happened today and yesterday. One of the other workers who sat across from me made his way over.