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82
The Weight
Of A Cotton
Cloud
“Morning, Edita,” Cloud responded, smiling at the old woman
who engulfed her in a warm hug. Edita worked with Cloud’s mother
in the card-room. It was most dusty there and many workers had
developed terrible coughs from the build up in their lungs. Jamie,
her little brother, had by far the worst job, as he was the littlest. He
would crawl under the machines and fix them whilst they were still
going. Children of his age were preferable but it was the most
dangerous. Edita had previously worked there and now possessed
only 6 fingers in total.
The group split as they entered the factory, each going off to their
own areas. The whizzing, burring and loudness of the machines that
were aligned in neat rows, the putrid smell and the choking dust
overwhelmed Cloud as it always had done, yet after spotting the
supervisor’s tall hat, with his whip in hand and eagle’s eyes, she made
a point to quickly get to work. She had felt the wrath for her
disobedience and had scars on her back to show for it. On her first
day she had attempted to rest after standing on her feet for five
hours straight but was whipped for it; needless to say, she never
stopped moving nowadays. The factory whirred to life; people
moved throughout the cotton storm. The white pieces of fluff were
forever falling and oppressing the workers. Suffocating them.
Weighing them down.
The little girl wove through the rows picking up pieces of cotton,
gliding through the winter wonderland she envisioned in her head.
Cloud always saw the silver lining. However, even she could not un-
see the sullen, tired faces of the children and women, she could not
un-hear the anguished screams from the lashings dealt, she could
not un-feel the dark feeling that gripped her whenever she walked
through those brass doors each day: she could not forget.
Out of the corner of her eye she watched her brother climb under
another machine to fix the thread. She averted her eyes for one
moment, but they were quickly brought back by an ear-piercing
scream. She turned to see her brother lying surrounded by blood, not
moving. “Jamie!” she yelled, her tears falling like rain, as she watched
the blood taint the pure white cotton as his body was surrounded. A
whip lashed out across her back, striking her like lightning. A
thunderous yell soon followed. Jamie’s face paled to a grey that
matched a winter’s sky. Cloud stood alone and watched as the cotton
storm continued to swirl. Continued to fall. Down… down… down…
‘
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