by Conor Laing
Editor’s note: In an effort to encourage young writers, we’ve been soliciting area schoolteachers to submit student work they consider above average. The following story came from Laurel McHargue’s 10th Grade English class at Lake County High School in Leadville.
Dawn broke in brilliant shades of orange and red. Suddenly, like some mystic demon, the city came to life. Factories roared and growled in rage. Lights came on like a thousand monstrous eyes. The city creaked and moaned in pain as the steel mills opened.
Outside of a bakery, a young boy crawled wearily out of a cardboard box. He was filthy, as though he had never bathed before. His hair was extremely untidy and he was so skinny you could see his ribs. The boy coughed heartily and then proceeded to look up at the large clock tower behind him. The boy nearly gagged as he saw the time. Today, more than any other day, the boy could not afford to be late for work. Today was the day he got his Christmas bonus that without, he might very well starve to death.
The boy quickly grabbed all of his worldly possessions, consisting of a pair of old leather shoes and a raggedy old hat, and ran off as fast as his feet could carry him. He almost knocked over a prominent looking man and an equally prominent looking woman. He sprinted right by the news stand, failing to see the headline that had already decided his entire day before it had even started.
He made a quick turn into a gate that read: Textiles of London
“There you are Tom,” the foreman greeted tersely, “You’re almost late.”
“Sorry sir,” replied Tom. The foreman could be extremely temperamental, so it was always best to be apologetic and temperate whenever around him.
“Get to work,” growled the foreman.
Tom smiled when he walked into the factory. The thick dust made it hard to see and it smelled strongly of lint. Tom involuntarily coughed, but quickly stopped when he thought of his bonus. He took his spot at one of the hundreds of sewing machines.
Tom looked up at his machine. It looked right back at him with blood red eyes and its needle teeth grinned gruesomely, as if the machine knew something that Tom didn’t. It towered over him as if it would like nothing more than to torture the boy. He took a deep breath and then looked down at his left hand. Tom had made a mistake once during his work; he reminded himself never to make a mistake again by flexing his four fingers on his left hand every day before work. Tom started up his machine.
Tom made sweaters. He had been making them for many years now. All of them were exactly the same. They were all a sickly green color. Tom generally looked at the sweaters he made in disgust, but today he was to get his bonus, so today, they were a necessary evil.
The machine started slowly at first, but then it moved faster and faster. Soon, Tom’s small hands became a blur. He turned out ugly sweater after ugly sweater, never missing a beat. Tom began sweating and had to slow down, but the machine didn’t know what it was to be tired, and it continued at the extreme pace. The idea of the bonus was slipping from Tom’s mind, who was now more worried about his arms than his stomach.
Mercifully, the lunch whistle blew and Tom was finally able to shut off the torturous machine. He breathed a sigh of relief and headed to the lunch room. Tom walked past the hundreds of machines, all identical to his own. As he looked around, he saw that his fellow child workers all had a melancholy look about them.
Because he had no lunch, Tom decided to rest his arms. While he rested, he pondered the answer as to why everyone looked so glum. He knew that the machines enjoyed using Machiavellian tactics on the children, but never had anyone looked as sad as they looked today. Didn’t everyone know that today they would receive their Christmas bonuses? Didn’t everyone see that as soon as the work day was done that they would all eat like kings and queens?
Before Tom could find the answer, the harsh whistle blew again and it was time to go back to the monstrous machines. Tom walked back to his station, arms still tired, and continued to make those hideous green sweaters. Tom forcibly told himself that the bonus would be worth it in the end, but his arms told him otherwise. He didn’t cough nearly as often, but his throat continued to burn. The final whistle blew, and Tom’s attention went back to his bonus. After five years of work, he would finally get his bonus that he so desperately needed.
The foreman walked over and growled, “The boss wants to see you.”
Tom thanked him and walked up the stairs. With every step, he became more and more excited. Finally, he reached the mahogany door to the boss’s office.
He knocked.
“Who’s there!” yelled the boss.
“Tom Kingpin,” replied Tom.
“Well, come in!” the boss said, almost screaming.
Tom turned the brass doorknob and pushed opened the door. Tom did not look at the boss right away. Instead he looked around. To his right there was a painting of the city as a beautiful utopia. To his left, a brilliantly colored songbird sat in black cage. The walls were painted a pleasing color of yellow and the room smelled of lilac.
Tom turned his head towards the boss. He had slicked back hair and was wearing a pinstriped suit with a red tie and white shirt. He was extremely fat and he had a large ring on his finger. The boss gestured for Tom to sit down.
“I suppose you’re expecting your bonus, eh?” Asked the boss almost telepathically
“Yes sir,” said Tom.”
Have you read today’s paper, Tom?”
“No sir, I haven’t”
“Well, this company has been having money problems, so I won’t be able to give you your entire bonus, but here you are and happy Christmas.”
The boss handed Tom a brown paper sack. Tom took it and looked inside. Peanuts. It was a sack full of peanuts.
The boss must have seen Tom’s bewildered look because he said, “Of course, you’ll get your full bonus next year.”
Tom halfheartedly thanked his boss, and walked out. He walked back to his cardboard box outside of the bakery. He pulled off his shoes and hat, and then stared at his brown paper sack. His Christmas bonus. Tom broke into laughter. He was laughing at his own frivolousness.
The growls of the city died down. As the sun set over the horizon, the monster that was the city finally fell asleep, and once Tom stopped laughing, he fell asleep too.
Conor Laing, a 10th grade student at Lake County High School, received an ugly green sweater for Christmas several years ago, and has worn it ever since during CSAP exams.
