clocks and clocks and clocks and clocks

the air smells putrid. grimy with years of sweat, iron and rust. I choke down a cough and my sister does the same, this place. clocks tick and in the distance I hear a loud zap, and a pitchy, pathetic scream follows. a man, electrocuted undoubtedly. gears shift and get annoying and begin to get louder, I will not stay here, I will not. I worked at this hell hole for long enough. And enough is enough. when I approach the counter (dirty obviously) and slap my resignation form on the oily desk, the accounted looks at me curiously, she looks at me as if I just announced my marriage, ok, quitting the only job I have left is a stupid move, but others have done it, and others have lived better for it, and soon I will live better for it. "are you insane" she scolds rudely. I nod, smirking, I fold my arms and look at her proudly. I'm quitting and that's that. she barks out a laugh, she covers her mouth, no wonder, she sounds like a deranged lunatic. she shakes her head smiling. I'm stupid enough to believe that such a laugh from this woman is genuine. beneath her forced cheerfulness and snappy attitude is pain. I see it one her face painted so clearly. I wonder if she lost anyone close to her. she probably did. a husband? a sibling? a parent? Well definitely someone special, because her eyes wet with tears. she takes a shaky breath and mutters something under her breath too quiet and too fast for me to hear. "there is a lot of dust in here" she says. she take my resignation form and walks away, her ears turning bright red, her face flushing in embarrassment. I walk out, my muscles ache and groan. I have worked myself extra hard this week. I changed all the gears, cleaned them, switched the old batteries for new ones. I spent half my money on making this place better so people will at least suffer less when they work here. I decide to have one last look at the large factory doorways. I take the back gate because outside this side of the building is a dangerous gang. No one crosses them, not even me. the doorway is huge, built with steel and melted bronze. on the doorway is a collection of circular gears with spikes and rectangles evenly sticking out. the owners keep it hear as a reminder, of what we do. as if the screaming children aren't reminder enough. I already said my goodbyes. and like I have done hundreds of times since I was 7, I walk out of the factory. but this time, forever, this time, for good.