sarina westin. d10f. fin.

I wanted freedom.

We staged it, a few of us factory workers. We realized we had sold our souls to hard labor for the rest of our lives. Our livelihood was stained in putrid oil. I can't stand the smell of it anymore, and I can't get rid of it. Every day is clockwork, predictable, and if something different happens, it's never good. Maybe the boss comes in and punishes one of us by taking our pay, and then my mom has to skip meals for a day. It's not fair.

I sought a way out.

It's dangerous, it's risky, but I had a map and a solid plan laid out. We were so close I could taste freedom, and I know what it tastes like. Clean air, pine, ozone. I can only imagine what it's like to exist without the stench of oil in my nose. You can't wash it out of your clothes or your soul.

I can't be like this for the rest of my life. It's mediocrity. And for what? To find a husband one day, have kids, and subject them to the same boring life? I can't move up in this world, they don't allow it.

If I can spare the time after a day's work, I like to dance. I like to organize events for our community, trying to paint smiles on the faces of my fellow miserables. I like to see the lights in the kids' eyes, because I know one day it will all fade. Mine faded long ago.

I'll dance my way out of here, one way or another.