Working at the factory(open)
Jul 7, 2012 13:35:38 GMT -5
Post by Sage on Jul 7, 2012 13:35:38 GMT -5
Hannah Wickers
The bell rings for the day to begin in the factory. I sign in and head over to my tiny work station. The sewing machine is old and needs some repairs desprately but I do not imagine we will get any. Seeing as we are district 8 after all. I look at the beautiful fabric in front of me and see that it is a shimmering gold that sparkles in the dim light of the fluorescent lightbulbs above us. My pack hangs on my back heavily as it is overfilled with supplies for the day. Blueprints lay on the table for what I will need to create; A lustrus gold gown with dragons embroidered elaborately into the hem of it. My dummy is already set up with the perfect size I will need and I quickly get to work. The fabric is not as light as it looked when I first saw it, instead it is quite dense. I work carefully as I cut, stitch, adjust, and repeat. Sweat drips off my forehead as the rest of the factory workers all start to power up their stations. Rows upon rows of workers with their dummies, all sewing, stitching, adjusting, and repeating work alongside me as we try to fill our quota for the day.
Gratitude fills me as the bell signalling the end of the day rings out. The outfit has begun to take shape and it looks much better than the blueprints. I see one of the peacekeepers wearing a uniform that I made guarding the door as each of us is checked before we leave. His partner, a woman in her early thirties, pats me down and checks my bag before nodding to me and stepping aside to let me leave. I nod thankfully as I step into the cool evening air that feels lovely against my sweating face. I walk towards my small house that lays near the center of town and am greeted by the rich smell of cooking meat, a rare luxury in our home. My mother greets me warmly as I rest my bag by the front door and go into the dining room. ÈWash your hands before touching anythingÈ She says. I mount the stairs that are in need of some repair but my father will repair that as soon as he gets back from district 10. Once my hands are washed and Iève brushed out my long dirty blonde hair, I walk back downstairs to where my mother is setting out two places. She pulls up a chair and I do likewise. ÈHow was your day at work honeyÉÈ She asks. ÈIt was good.È I reply. We eat the meat she was cooking before I head upstairs for a shower. The cool water feels amazing against my sweaty skin. I towel dry off and head to my room. I put on a pair of pajamas and crawl under the scratchy wool blanket Iève had since I was about 7. I fall asleep quite quickly, dreaming about the article I had made that day and what it would look like when it was done.
The bell rings for the day to begin in the factory. I sign in and head over to my tiny work station. The sewing machine is old and needs some repairs desprately but I do not imagine we will get any. Seeing as we are district 8 after all. I look at the beautiful fabric in front of me and see that it is a shimmering gold that sparkles in the dim light of the fluorescent lightbulbs above us. My pack hangs on my back heavily as it is overfilled with supplies for the day. Blueprints lay on the table for what I will need to create; A lustrus gold gown with dragons embroidered elaborately into the hem of it. My dummy is already set up with the perfect size I will need and I quickly get to work. The fabric is not as light as it looked when I first saw it, instead it is quite dense. I work carefully as I cut, stitch, adjust, and repeat. Sweat drips off my forehead as the rest of the factory workers all start to power up their stations. Rows upon rows of workers with their dummies, all sewing, stitching, adjusting, and repeating work alongside me as we try to fill our quota for the day.
Gratitude fills me as the bell signalling the end of the day rings out. The outfit has begun to take shape and it looks much better than the blueprints. I see one of the peacekeepers wearing a uniform that I made guarding the door as each of us is checked before we leave. His partner, a woman in her early thirties, pats me down and checks my bag before nodding to me and stepping aside to let me leave. I nod thankfully as I step into the cool evening air that feels lovely against my sweating face. I walk towards my small house that lays near the center of town and am greeted by the rich smell of cooking meat, a rare luxury in our home. My mother greets me warmly as I rest my bag by the front door and go into the dining room. ÈWash your hands before touching anythingÈ She says. I mount the stairs that are in need of some repair but my father will repair that as soon as he gets back from district 10. Once my hands are washed and Iève brushed out my long dirty blonde hair, I walk back downstairs to where my mother is setting out two places. She pulls up a chair and I do likewise. ÈHow was your day at work honeyÉÈ She asks. ÈIt was good.È I reply. We eat the meat she was cooking before I head upstairs for a shower. The cool water feels amazing against my sweaty skin. I towel dry off and head to my room. I put on a pair of pajamas and crawl under the scratchy wool blanket Iève had since I was about 7. I fall asleep quite quickly, dreaming about the article I had made that day and what it would look like when it was done.
