Dearer Than Life

As I walked into the factory where I work, the fresh air and colors faded. The factor owners had installed bigger looms in the dingy facility. I’m not used to such monstrous machines.

Walking up the stairs, I took my first breath of fiber-filled air and heard the coughing and hacking from other young workers. Reluctantly, I walked into the room.

I tried to ignore my thoughts about the looms, but the dangers that come with them are real. As I looked around, I noticed that several girls had already hurt their hands as they tried out the new looms. Goosebumps arose on my back.

“You’ll be fine,” my best friend, Amy, said.

I smiled. Heart pounding, I began working. Out came white soft material. I had been here for nine years, and I still couldn’t believe that these horrible machines created something so beautiful. This cloth would be the only pure, clean thing I would see all day.

Finally, after fifteen hours of work, the whistle blew, signaling the end of another exhausting day. While Amy went to get her sweater, my long, stained skirt swept against the loom and got stuck. I shrieked at the top of my lungs until Amy rushed over to me.

She grabbed my arm and pulled with all her might. Finally the machine devoured a part of my skirt as Amy pulled me free.

“Are you okay?” Amy cried.

“Yes, I think so,” I replied, my heart still pounding fast. Amy tied her sweater around my bleeding ankle.

“Did I ruin the fabric?” I asked worriedly. I looked at the material; it was still beautiful. I hugged my friend, smiled, and said, “Thank goodness, we are not in trouble.”

“But your leg, it’s . . . it’s bleeding,” Amy stammered.

“I’ll be fine. As long as I didn’t’ ruin the fabric, we wont’ lose our jobs,” I said. Holding hands tightly, we walked away.