[circumstances] beyond our control // tom, blitz

[Onyx]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,35,true][atrb=style,width: 35px; border-width: 0px 0px 2px 2px; border-color:#363534; border-style:solid; background-image: url(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me7plbac061qcdtsho1_400.jpg);]

[bg=170f19][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,485,true][atrb=style,width: 485px; border-width:0px 2px 2px 0px; border-color:#363534; border-style:solid; background-color:#FBFFFA;] havenryecroft Last night’s chill has left its signature on the landscape today through the handles of the barrow, which are so cold they burn my fingers, and the stiff door of the warehouse, which might as well be bolted it’s so difficult to open. Once again, I regret playing the hero and taking on this early-morning job. The others are still in bed, most likely, with the exception of several of the older kids who are also working today. The image of my warm sheets twisted and untucked just how I like them and the folded clothes which improvise as a pillow forces its way back into my thoughts like a drug, beautifully, lethally. Thinking like this is going to cost me my job. Padlocking the door behind me and hiding the key in the vent by my feet, I suck in the dawn air gratefully. At least I know I won’t fall asleep while I’m walking – the bite of cold I feel every time I draw breath will see to that. The small square of paper with directions for today’s pick up is crumpled in the palm of my hand, and I study it intently. Underneath the lines of text – which make no sense to me, just a pile of meaningless scribbles that the ‘righteous’ educated flaunt like a stamp of sophistication – is a rough drawing of the route to where I’m headed. All he needed to do was give me a lot number, and I could have found my way there. Still, I’m grateful that he went to the effort when he handed in his deposit and this note. It just means I can be back at the Home quicker, in the warmth of my bed where I belong. The rhythm of wheeling the barrow comes after the first few steps, and soon I’m marching along on the hard earth of the road at an even pace. Under the squeaking of the single wheel (which I know I need to see to for the sake of professionalism) and apart from the occasional cough from another early worker, the area is silent. Almost ominously so. Grinning at the childishness of this sudden thought, I continue on my way, hoping I find this morning’s customer in an amiable mood – and not bitter tiredness.

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