How The Machine's Grinding Broke Through Bones, Skin and Flesh

[Guesswhonotmeoryou]

How The Machine's Grinding Broke Through Bones, Skin and Flesh


The factory reeked of scorched metal, rancid sweat, and the thick, suffocating smoke that clung to the air. The roar of the looms never ceasing, their iron teeth gnashing shrill sounds, chewing through cotton and wool as if they had an insatiable hunger. The heat of the machines, the flickering gas lamps casting shadows over soot darkened walls, it all blurred together into a relentless tide of labor. John Cyrus's fingers, raw and blistered, trembled as he tightened a bolt on the loom before him. He knew better than to let himself slip into thought as those who did lose more than focus. A boy, no older than nine, got caught last week, his sleeve yanked into the gears before he could even scream. The overseers barely hesitated before prying his mangled body free, throwing a tarp over him, and setting another boy in his place. There was always another boy. Another man. Another body to feed the factory's endless demand.


"Oi, John!" A sharp elbow to the ribs jolted him from his trance. Tom Park, his closest friend and longest standing coworker, leaned in, his breath warm with the stench of onions and cheap ale. "You look half dead," Tom murmured, rolling his aching shoulders." Thought maybe the looms had finally eaten you up." John snorted. "Not today." He flexed his fingers, the callouses thick as leather. " I nearly lost my bloody hand this morning. Belt slipped while I was fixing the gears. " Tom sucked his teeth. "Luck's still with ya, then. " He gestured toward another machine, where a man with a stump below his elbow worked one-handed. He had seen too many men lose limbs, their lives changed in an instant they were lucky enough to live. He exhaled, shaking the thought away. He couldn't afford to dwell. " Masters ain't givin´ Sam's widow nothing, " Tom muttered after a moment, eyes darting towards the overseer, who stood at the far end of the factory, arms crossed, watching them like a hawk." She's got three young ones, and not a penny for the burial." John gritted his teeth. " Same as always. " The sharp whistle of the foreman cut through the air. Work was done for the day." See you tomorrow, " Tom said as he stretched, wincing as his back cracked." If the air don't kill us first." John didn't answer.


He just grabbed his coat, stiff with old sweat and grime, and stepped out into the city's filthy strewn streets. The sky was bruised with colors of dusk, the air thick with the stick of coal smoke and human waste. The alley teemed with life hawkers crying out their meager wares, beggars curled against crumbling walls, rats scurrying between overflowing chamber pots. John walked with his head down, passing the gin shops already filled with men trying to drink away their misery. A woman in tattered clothes clutched at his sleeve, her breath sour with hunger." Please, sir, a penny for the bairn, " she begged, motioning towards the child clinging to her skirts. The boy's ribs jutted beneath his grimy shirt, his face hollow, John hesitated. He had barely enough for his own family, but he couldn't ignore the boy's sunken eyes. With a sigh, he fished a half-penny from his pocket and dropped it into her hand before moving on. By the time he reached home a single stifling room in a crumbling tenement, his body screaming for rest. The wooden door creaked as he stepped inside, the scent of weak broth filling his nostrils. Lucia, his wife, sat on the floor, stirring a pot over the small, flickering fire. She was beautiful once, before years of hardships had changed her, turning the once youthful now hagrid dulled eyes sunken in and blood shot with her cheeks hollowed gaunt with her troubles.


Now, she was thin, her belly swollen with another child, exhaustion etched deep into her face.


Mary, their youngest daughter, sat on the floor, her small hands clutching a rag doll missing one button eye. Across from her Archie ten in a half, all arms, and legs, his face still bearing traces of boyish roundness grinned up at his father. " Pa, you're late! " Archie said, bouncing on his heels. " Ma's been keepin´ the stew warm just for you! " John chuckled as he ruffled the boy's hair before sinking onto the rough wooden bench beside the table. Lucia placed a bowl before him thin broth with a single floating turnip and a scrap of bread hard enough to chip a tooth.


He dipped the bread into the broth, chewing slowly, savoring what little flavor there was. " How was work?" Lucia asked, though she already knew the answer. John sighed. " Same Tom says the landlord's raisin´ rent again." Lucia's shoulders tensed." God above, what for? Roof's still leakin´. Walls are damp. Rats get bolder every week! " Henry shrugged." More people comin´ to the city. Masters need more hands, more places to stick 'em. " Lucia rubbed her temples. " I don't know how much more we can take, John. When the baby comes- " " We'll manage, " he said, though he wasn't sure how. Archie, eager to change the subject, beamed." Pa, guess what? Tomorrow, I get to go real deep! A whole mile! The boss says I'm strong enough to help with the big carts now! " Lucia's spoon clattered into her bowl. " A mile is deep, lad, " John said carefully. " You listen, yeah? Don't go where you ain't supposed to. " " I will, Pa! I promise! " ----





The next morning, John rose before dawn, pressing a kiss to Lucia's forehead before trudging back to the factory. The city was still dark, only the glow of smog covered lanterns guiding him. The morning light barely cut through the choking fog that hung low over the streets, thick with soot from factories. John had woken before dawn, same as always, pressing a weary kiss to Lucia's forehead before slipping out the door for the day. Archie had already left for the mine, eager, excited. The factory swallowed him whole, as it did every day. The ceaseless clatter of looms, the smell of burning oil and scorched cotton. But just as noon struck, just as John reached to wipe the sweat beading down from his brow, the door burst open with a crash. A man staggered inside, panting, his face ghost white beneath layers of grime . " The mine- " he gasped. " South pit's collapsed! " John's heart stopped. The words rang in his ears, but his legs moved before his mind could catch up. He tore out of the factory, shoving past workers, past carts and carriages, past shouting vendors who cursed as he nearly toppled their wares. Mud splashed up his legs as he ran, but he didn't feel it. His breath burned in his throat panting. * God No Please Not Archie Not my boy.*


The pit came into view a jagged wound in the earth, lined with crumbling wooden supports. Smoke and dust billowed from the entrance, thick and black. A crowd had gathered, a mass of frantic mothers, weeping wives, fathers with hollow eyes. Soot covered boys sat in the dirt, their faces smeared with coal dust, their chest heaving as they gulped clean air. Some clutched each other. Some rocked back and forth, silent, their small hands shaking. John's eyes scanned them, searching, desperate. " Archie? " His voice cracked. " Archie! " Nothing. He pushed forward, past the other fathers, past the overseers barking orders, past the men clawing at the earth, trying to dig out the buried tunnel. But Archie wasn't among the boys who made it out. Jon felt his stomach drop.* " Pa, tomorrow I get to go real deep! A whole mile! " A mile down. Too deep. His knees hit the mud.


His hands trembled as he clutched at his face, his chest heaving. " No- " A scream tore through the crowd. Lucia. John turned just in time to see her collapse to the ground, her hands clawing at her dress, sobs wracking her body. A man staggered out of the pit, coughing black dust from his lungs. His arms were streaked with blood not his own. " They're bringing´ up all the bodies they can find, " someone murmured. John's breath caught in his throat. And then he saw them. One by one, the miners dragged bodies into the light. The first boy was no older than eight, his small frame twisted unnatural angle, his face half caved in where a beam struck him. Blood clotted his matted hair, his lips still parted in what might have been a scream-choked by the coal dust before it could leave his lungs.


The next was missing his hands. Crushed, likely, in a desperate attempt to claw free. Then another. And another. The bodies piled up, one after another, their small limbs tangled, their faces blackened beyond recognition. John watched, frozen, his mind refusing to believe what his eyes were seeing. Then, finally A body was dragged into the light, his clothes still barely clinging to him, torn from the weight of the rubble of the collapse. His arms were limp, one bent backwards where the bone had snapped clean through, His face Oh God, his face. His boy. Archie's blue eyes, once so bright, stared blankly towards the sky, wide and empty. His lower jaw was hanging by a strand of connective tissues. His mouth open, the hanging remains of flesh were bashed from the debris of the rubble. Blood dripping mixed with the coal dust coating his skin.


His chest had been caved in sunken, pushed in on itself, ribs shattered like brittle twigs beneath the weight of the mine's debris, John staggered forward, choking on air, reaching out with trembling hands. But Archie did not move. Did not breathe. His fingers brushed his son's head ruffling his blood encrusted hair coal dust and blood coated his hand. Cold. Lifeless. Lucia wailed, curling over her boy's body, rocking him like she had when he was a babe in her arms. John could do nothing but sink to his knees beside her, staring at the broken remains of what was once his son, his mind numb. The mine had taken him. Just as it had taken John's grandfather, all those years ago. Just as it had taken countless fathers, brothers, sons before him. And tomorrow, the mine will open again. The gears would keep grinding and John, broken, grieving, hollow would return to work, because there was no other choice.

 

[Angry_Crustacean]

Thanks for the soul crushing sadness and guilty relief at being born in a different era