Preston Burton

Industrial Revolution by Preston Burton

The exhausting and tireless work never seemed, constantly hearing fellow workers screaming out in agony. The toiling work of another 14 hour day in the factory was really starting to take a toll on my physical and mental health. I had already developed a consistent cough, and my arms would feel as if they were about to fall off by the time I was done for the day. It could’ve been worse though. Some of my coworkers had lost their jobs because of lost fingers and irreplaceable injuries from the work that they did. I had only recently been transferred from a water-powered factory because of lost fingers and irreplaceable injuries from the work that they did. It was a typical sight to find a young child to be missing an entire arm before they even hit puberty. After work, my mom would ask, “What’s new today honey?”

I would often reply, “Another day, another injury from another worker. The usual.”

She answered, “Man, how can they keep doing this to these poor kids. It’s not right, it’s just not right.”

“I know mom, but we need the money. We can’t pay rent if me and dad quit and took time off. We just can’t afford it right now.”

“I know, I know. But I still can’t get over the fact that your children might have to live through the same thing.

“Welp, it is what it is. Only a few more months and we can move to a bigger and better house ya know.”

“Not if your father gets hurt. You know he pulls in most of the mon-

ey.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Have a little faith mom.

She was always thinking about balancing finances and how we were going to pay the bills for rent. I never really thought about it too much though. I always did my part at work and we made it from month to month as long as my dad did what he was supposed to do. He had recently gotten moved to one of the most notoriously dangerous factories in Great Britain. People that were transferred there usually didn’t last more than a few weeks, and if they stayed, they never left the same. Sometimes people even died on the job because of the metal particles infiltrating their lungs. The worst part is, my dad’s cough had gotten

increasingly severe, and left him winded all throughout the day. My mom did her best to nurse him back to health, but he was getting more sick each day. It was taking a toll on our finances and I had to drop out of school. My mom also was expecting a son in a month, which would add to the already dwindling funds in the house. It felt like our once financially sufficient family had changed to a struggling lower class family in only a few months. Ever since our father’s farm was bought out by an upper class family, we had to move to the city to find work in the factories and move into a tiny clustered apartment complex. It had only one bathroom and one bedroom with a small living room. I had to sleep on the couch in the living room while my parents shared the small bed in the bedroom. Having another child would only present more problems we had to worry about. I hated our living situation. I didn’t really understand how money worked and what taxes were, I just knew I wanted to get out of here. My dad often told me,

“It’s like a prison that you gotta pay for and show up to everyday, but it’s better to live out there on the streets. At least be grateful for that.”

I always have. Whenever me and my dad came home from a hard day’s work, I would always keep our little apartment nice and tidy with mom, just to make his life a little less stressful. I really did feel horrible for the situation he was thrust in after he lost his farm. He used to be happy about tending his crops and running around with the cattle. Nowadays, he spends his time sleeping as soon as he gets home, in a never ending process of exhaustion. On his first week at his first factory job, he lost a finger in one of the cotton gin machines because he got his hand jammed. Ever since then, he has never had the same smile or laugh. It’s almost like he lost his joy when he lost that finger. Our conversations would often go “How was your day dad?” “The usual” he replied “Anything new when you get home.” “Nope” “Ok, see you” “Mhmmm”

He would usually chill in his favorite chair in the living room, the only piece of furniture we owned other than the pull out bed I slept on. Despite our family and financial struggles, I tried to keep a positive attitude. Although work was dangerous for both me and my father, it was enough to sustain a three person household. It was good enough for 63

now. As soon as I got home, I helped around the house cleaning dishes. My mom asked the usual question, “What’s new today honey?” “Nothing out of the ordinary Mom. My friend Fred almost got his middle finger in the machine, but nothing more than that. It was honestly a pretty good day. How ‘bout you mom?”

“Same old same old,” She replied. “Your dad still hasn’t gotten home yet, I’m starting to get worried. He’s usually here before you.”

Shocked, I replied, “Wait for real, he’s always here at least thirty minutes before me, you know how he is.

“I know, and I’ve been hearing the crime rates have been rising because of the new people moving in.

“Mom, you don’t think-?”

“Let’s go take a look ourselves before we jump to conclusions.” She said hastily

We left our little apartment and walked down into the dark alleyways. The air always reeked because of the smoke from the nearby factories. This made hiding in the dark far easier for criminals and shady people. We always feared that one of us could be robbed or abducted on the way home. Mom and I looked around for only a few seconds before we saw him.

“Dad!” I exclaimed. Excited that he was still with us.

“They took it.” He said quietly.

“Took what?”

“My paycheck, I was walking back home with it and someone snatched my paycheck.”

My heart dropped in my chest. Why did this have to happen to us. We were good people who kept to ourselves. We didn’t bother anyone or do anything to get us in trouble. Why did it have to happen now, with mom expecting the baby in just a few weeks.

“Do you know what the person looked like?” I asked, trying to stay calm.

“Nope, I just looked in my pocket and it was gone.”

This is bad, we didn’t even have a description of who took the damn thing.

“Where did you go on your home honey,” Mom inquired. “Maybe you dropped it on the way home.”

“No, there’s no way, I would never forget something that important.” He replied.

That definitely was not true. When we used to work on the farms, 64

my dad would forget everything no matter what. Half the day was spent looking for a tool he misplaced or one of the cattle he would forget about putting them in their cages.

“Maybe we should go back to town and look for it, you never know.” I interjected

“It’s worth a shot.” Mom added.

He felt disrespected by the fact that he thought that his family thought that he misplaced it, but he agreed. Even he knew how forgetful he was. He finally relented.

“Fine, we’ll go check, but you won’t find it.” He said defiantly.

He always went the same way everyday. He walked through the alleys, to catch the train, and went to one of the inner city factories. That meant, we first had to look in the alleys. We all split up, looking closely for anything that resembled the crisp orange envelopes that he received every two weeks. We spent about half an hour scouring the alleyways, but we all came up empty.

“Welp, what I say, told you someone stole it from me.”

“We don’t know that for sure honey, we still have to look on the train.”

“You won’t find it there either, its gone for good, and my boss told me this was an extra special check.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“My guess is as good as yours.” He replied sadly

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw an orange slip in my dad’s jacket and I burst out laughing. My mom and dad both looked at each other concerned for a minute as they waited for me to finish.

“Dad.” I said through tears. “Check your other pocket.”

He reached into his jacket confused, and then turned bright red.

“Oh, how’d that get in there.” He said under breath.

“Well, I guess some things never change.” Mom laughed.

Then we all starting laughing as a family, and for the first time in a long time, I saw my dad happy again.