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墨書 Inktalez
The metal shavings from the lathe flew like blazing sparks, instantly burning through my thin work uniform, leaving behind a series of charred holes. My fingers, gripping the wrench, froze in mid-air as an inexplicable sense of unease surged within me. Just then, a tremendous force struck my lower back; it was the Metal cart careening out of control. I stumbled a few steps, nearly losing my balance. Old Zhou stood nearby, cigarette dangling from his lips, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Oil dripped from his wrench onto the freshly cleaned bearing, as if mocking me silently.
The conveyor belt emitted a harsh grinding noise, reminiscent of some anguished moan. I crouched down to touch the leaking Hydraulic Pipe, but suddenly my pant leg got snagged by a metal hook. I lost my balance and fell into the murky puddle of wastewater. The filthy water mixed with machine oil rushed into my nostrils, and the suffocating sensation nearly made me vomit. Struggling to get back on my feet, I heard the entire row of lathe workers burst into laughter; their jeers sliced through me like sharp blades.
“Xia Jian has fallen again!” Huang Mao shouted, using an air gun to send screws flying from my toolbox. The sound of those screws bouncing off the tin roof echoed like bullets, striking at my dignity. I counted the seventeenth screw rolling into the drain, blood seeping from the nail punctures stained the wrench with a dark red hue—a pain that was indescribable.
In the changing room's Storage Cabinet, gum had hardened in the lock. When I kicked open the cabinet door, a jagged metal piece cruelly sliced into my calf. I looked at the bloodied photo on my work badge—seventeen years old, eyes sparkling with dreams for the future. But now that light had extinguished, replaced by a crumpled sanitary napkin package stuffed in the corner of the cabinet, silently narrating my life's helplessness and weariness.
In the restroom stall, I heard the sound of a rat gnawing on a plastic bag; it made me feel nauseous. Crouching down while pressing on my abdomen, I glanced at the pregnancy test in my hand—the second red line glaring like a venomous centipede. Just then, a cold water pipe burst open, and in the mirror appeared Director Zhang’s shiny face, his false eyelashes glistening with ice crystals. A strange smile curled at his lips: “Ten o'clock tonight, in the supply room.”
The hot air blowing from the machine's ventilation burned at my nape, creating an unbearable heat. I felt for the Spring knife I had secretly stashed in my pocket; its handle was heated by my body temperature. As Director Zhang’s garlic-scented breath loomed closer, I heard my teeth chattering: “The child… is it yours?”
The glare from his Gold Watch blinded me; he smirked disdainfully: “The abortion money could buy you three months' salary.” Unable to endure any longer, I swung the wrench down hard onto his knee; that dull thud brought me an inexplicable thrill. However, he quickly retaliated, grabbing a hot glue gun and thrusting it toward my abdomen. The scorching adhesive seared through my skin as a burnt smell filled the air; blood flowed from my body into the cooling liquid circulation pipe.
“Bitch, still trying to extort money?” His polished shoe ground against my hand clutching the knife; an excruciating pain nearly made me faint. I bit down on a piece of metal hidden in my mouth and watched as blood sprayed from his neck onto safety production slogans—a feeling of vengeance surged within me. The Surveillance Camera in the corner blinked red like countless rotting eyes watching me; yet I knew there was no turning back.
Pink foam bubbled up in the drain as I curled up beneath a discarded machine tool, counting through contractions. Blood soaked through my work pants and crystallized into ice shards. In the distance came the wail of sirens growing closer while my Pupil began to dilate. Snowflakes gently landed on my face as if bidding me farewell. I knew everything would vanish with this storm of wind and snow.
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