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A Forklifts Perspective 

It must be nice to have a choice, a choice of destiny. My thoughts are the same every morning, more wishful thinking as I patiently wait by the assembly line. Looking up, I study a large advertisement displaying a logo that mirrors my own. It tells me where I belong: part of the steady hum of machinery that forms “The Austen Factory”, the only home I’ve ever known. The only place I fit in: or so they say. The people here tell me I’m useful, say I’m needed; I have all the validation but to no satisfaction. Finally, the large white lights hanging overhead flick on bringing the factory to life; The conveyor belt starts to turn and I begin transferring the packaged boxes for train pickup but my mind refuses to be captivated by such monotonous activity. So after much though, I deduce that belonging doesn’t necessarily mean you “fit in”. Where does anyone fit in? Is that to say people can be compared to tessellating shapes and the world an art piece? No, this world is so messy and ridged yet here we are, still trying to jam ourselves into any place we can, desperate to leave our mark on the world or risk falling off the face of the planet altogether: the memory of us lost in an abyss of pointlessness. Stop, I need to stay on task or I’ll miss the train drop off

But as I work, speculations of destiny creep in; is this mine? An endless cycle of carting from pillar to post hardly seems like a destiny to me but what else is there to my life? Any dreams I might’ve had have been left far in the past. The days are a blur as a crushing weight of responsibilities steel my nights but the nightmares lie in my waking moments anyway, interlaced through the dull grey halls filled with petrol stench: a route of labor for a life of slavery. No matter, it’s been so long since my time beyond these prison walls that those memories feel like someone else’s life entirely.

The trains familiar rattle can now be heard from the distance, that’s my cue to get in place for an efficient drop off. The train comes to a stop by the station and the large wired gates of the surrounding fence screech slowly open: this is my favourite part of the day when I fantasise driving through those gates forever, never once looking back; I could start afresh somewhere with a gentle sun that shines all day and instead of dry dirt and concrete walls there would be lush, green grass and dense woodlands and—oh, what’s this? 

A small robot stepped from one of the carriages as I was carrying a crate to the factory supplies storeroom, mindlessly lost in thought I almost ran him over but, as I’m on a schedule there’s no time (or, I must admit, energy) to stop and apologise. Although I don’t know him personally I know he belongs here because he’s branded with the same logo that marks all of us. However I’ve never seen him around which intrigues me as to where he’s been, so from here on in I’ll watch.

I watch as he stumbles through the factory’s chaos like a lost puppy. Searching for some kind of sign, one which a logo won’t suffice. Through his eyes I see my own dilemma reflected but still I can’t understand, he’s returned to where he belongs so this is where he must stay. But after much hesitation it’s clear his mind is made up. He tears the logo from his side: a final act of liberation from his label and I can’t help the anger, no, jealousy that washes over me. You can’t alter a path if you have no tools and yet here I am watching as he leaves for good, carving a new path from nothing. He walks away towards the golden sunset and forests beyond and as I stand in the dark shadows of TAF I can do nothing but wish I had that courage. The courage to pursue a life within my control, where I’d have a choice and the freedom to be happy. But I know better, I know that you need more than just the will to survive, that even freedom comes with a price. So I’ll stay where I belong and work as I always have because, there is no other path for me.

 

*finished*

ok so this is the improved draft but I’m worried my teach must dislike it because she doesn’t reply. 

 

2 minutes ago, mini said:

ye sure i'll have a read

Thank you so much, I’ve posted it above:wub:

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(edited)
53 minutes ago, Mlp_fan101 said:

A Forklifts Perspective 

Introduction and setting are portrayed much better. I feel like I understand the character's world more. I like how the character's thoughts are spontaneously disrupted by "Stop," followed by a return to business as usual. This sense of duty foreshadows the conclusion. However, I'd like to change some parts if you don't mind.

53 minutes ago, Mlp_fan101 said:

It must be nice to have a choice, a choice of destiny. My thoughts are the same every morning, more wishful thinking as I patiently wait by the assembly line. Looking up, I study a large advertisement displaying a logo that mirrors my own. It tells me where I belong: part of the steady hum of machinery that forms “The Austen Factory”, the only home I’ve ever known. The only place I fit in. [I got rid of "or say they say." We don't really need that since you follow it with "the people here tell me..."] The people here tell me I’m useful, they say I’m needed; I have all the validation but to no satisfaction. Finally, The large white lights hanging overhead flicker on, illuminating the dreariness of the factory. The conveyor belt starts to turn and I begin transferring the packaged boxes for train pickup but my mind refuses to be captivated by such monotonous activity. So after much though, I deduce that belonging doesn’t necessarily mean you “fit in”. I ponder, does the feeling of belonging coincide with "fitting in"? Where does anyone fit in? Is that to say people can be compared to tessellating shapes and the world an art piece? No, this world is so messy and ridged yet here we are, still trying to jam ourselves into any place we can, still desperate to leave our mark on the world or risk falling off the face of the planet altogether.: the memory of us lost in an abyss of pointlessness. Stop. I need to stay on task. I can't miss the train drop off. 

53 minutes ago, Mlp_fan101 said:

I could start afresh somewhere with a gentle sun that shines all day and instead of dry dirt and concrete walls there would be lush, green grass and dense woodlands and—Oh, an unfamiliar image cuts my reverie short.

A small robot stepped from one of the carriages as I was carrying a crate to the factory supplies storeroom [...]

["Oh, what's this?" sounds a bit too colloquial and doesn't really suit the rest of your prose.]

53 minutes ago, Mlp_fan101 said:

The days are a blur as a crushing weight of responsibilities steel my nights but the nightmares lie in my waking moments anyway, interlaced through the dull grey halls filled with petrol stench: a route of labor for a life of slavery. This sentence is perfect. Olfactory imagery is a nice touch. 

53 minutes ago, Mlp_fan101 said:

Through his eyes I see my own dilemma reflected but still I can’t understand, he’s returned to where he belongs so this is where he must stay. Another good sentence. 

 

This version is markedly better. I'm not sure why your teacher is refusing to give you proper feedback. sounds like a shit teacher tbh

Edited by mini

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7 hours ago, mini said:

Introduction and setting are portrayed much better. I feel like I understand the character's world more. I like how the character's thoughts are spontaneously disrupted by "Stop," followed by a return to business as usual. This sense of duty foreshadows the conclusion. However, I'd like to change some parts if you don't mind.

 

This version is markedly better. I'm not sure why your teacher is refusing to give you proper feedback. sounds like a shit teacher tbh

Wow I actually can’t thank you enough for your help!:pinkie:  you have a real literary talent and I’m so grateful you’ve shared it with me:wub:

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