Forced Labor

Authors Note: This is a short creative piece I did off an inspiration I got when learning about sweatshops in Social Studies. This isn't necessarily a sweat shop as much as it is a prison where people work, but you get the point. 

We wake up at 5 o’clock sharp every morning. No later. The orange sun barely rising in the dark, black sky at dawn; we dress quickly before we get warned a second time.  We pace our way in an orderly fashion through the bland, dimly lit corridors with guards shoving the points of their guns in our backs.  They escort us to our dirty work stations -- all our supplies sitting there waiting for us.  We pick up our sewing materials and begin the boring, tedious process over and over and over again.  There are no breaks. No talking. No escape. No hope. Just work. All day, every day. Forever. If you are working too slowly or fall asleep, you’re beaten nearly to death. If you attempt at saying as much as one word, the watching guards are more than happy to pull the trigger pointed at your head.