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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1638010-Factory-girl
Rated: ASR · Fiction · Action/Adventure · #1638010
In 1869, 14 year old Beatrix Mastiff works in a factory. When she gets kicked out...
It was 5:00 am. I was already sweating.
Why I stayed here, I have no idea. Being a factory girl was not easy. Getting up at 4:00am, going to bed at 9:30PM. Little supper, little breakfast, little lunch. And the beds, so uncomfortable. I was an orphan, and I lived in the factory, having a job sewing clothes there. The room I slept in was extremely tiny. And I shared it with 2 other girls. Mary and Beth. They were horrible.

Stitch, stitch. Its like I had writers cramp with a needle and thread. I sighed.
As i sewed the needle in an out of the georgous blue dress, with the purple lace across the bottom... I felt as if it suited me. it was just so geourgous. I kept going and going, and it was done. And you know what I did? Without thinking, I looked to make sure no-one was watching, and shoved the dress into my bag. No-one saw. I started a new green skirt. Sew, sew sew.
There cam that "sewers cramp" again.
I was damp. Sweat trickled down my face. I decided to take a break.
I drowsed off...
Running. From what, i don't know. Sprinting down the hallways, it felt as If It was effortless. I heard little snickers and giggles. I bumped into something, but kept running. There was nothing in my way? Why did it feel as if something was invisible? Running and running down the long gray hallway. Was it ever going to stop? All of the sudden, I bumped into a black hooded figure.
"Excuse me?"
My eyes sprung open. Was it a nightmare?
I turned my head. Nope.
There she was, same as always. Strawberry-blonde hair, in the tightest little bun you ever saw. Did it hurt?
"Excuse me?!" She said again.
"He-hello... Good morning." I shuddered. I found i was laying on the ground, sweating like a pig.
"Hello Beatrix. Good afternoon, I would say." She said to me.
I did a silent gasp. I slept to the afternoon? I got up, and smoothed my ragged dress. Best to look presentable when in the dog house.

"I have watched yo doing your little performance, all morning long. Do you know, that you have been running for the past 7 hours and, oh look. 8 minutes? The things you were bumping into were people, an they were pushing you back into other directions. You were screaming, 'Emmet, Emmet,' too. Who is Emmet??"
Who the hell is Emmet? I thought.
"I-I don't know. I have never heard of him, Miss Starcher." I stumbled out.
"I better not find out again..." Then i heard her say something under her breath, it sounded like, "Not that she'll ever be here again..." and she silently chuckled. What's up with this woman? Question of my life.
"This cost me thousands of dollars, my girls wouldn't get back to work. I am very disappointed." She looked furious.
Might as well try to not get kicked out, I thought. I would actually like to be kicked out though, escape this train wreak.
"Im-im sorry. Ill get to work now. Would you like an-" She cut me off.
"Yes, there is something I would like." She told me.
"Well? What is it?" I managed to choke out.
"Leave. And no coming back, especially after that sassy remark." A smirk spread across her face.
"Excuse me?" Crap. Now i sounded like her.
"You are fired from Anaconda Sewing."
I gasped out loud this time. God must have heard me, wishing to escape. My expression pleased her.
Agin, not thinking again, i slowly moved my sweat-covered hand to my sewing kit, picked up my huge machine, dumped it in the bag and sprinted out that glass door faster than Penelope Starcher could say "CATCH THAT THEIVE!"

Once I got outside, I saw the city of London. I wondered why I never snuck out to see the beautiful town. Teenage girls, snickering and laughing as they roamed around, window shopping. Envy. I looked down at my rags. I was wearing no shoes. Maybe I should get a job, I thought... No time for thinking though. Miss Starcher must have the police coming by now.


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1638010-Factory-girl