[ IP ] Oppressed

Their worn and tired faces sagged off the bone of their skulls like so many waddles of fat off of a marbled chop. Great-cloaks dyed black by soot and smoke clung to their withered forms. They held aloft overbearing umbrellas not to ward off wetness but so as to obscure the fact of their existence. They were dying. 
 
 The work in the factory was grim. Wake up at six. Get dressed and walk to work at ten past. Feed the furnace corpses for six hours. Those workers who were hurt were also to be feed to its roaring, fiery maw. Eat for ten minutes before listening to a speech from those upstairs, the furnace masters. They could rest then as they watched the huge, dirty vid screen that plastered the far wall of the mess hall. Praise the furnace masters! The furnace masters love their children! A whole wealth of other laudatory bullshit. They would wonder what the furnace masters did upstairs. What was the point of all their burning? No smoke ever rose from the top of the factory tower so it must be going somewhere. But they did n't speak of such things. Those who talked were thrown into the furnace. 
 
 After this rest they worked another eight hours before the furnace's mouth shut its steel lips and they trudged out of the factory into the drizzle. The burns and heat of their bodies were at contrast with the cool rain. Before long those walking would be collapsing into hard beds, flat things of straw and linen on the floor of their uniform six by six cubit apartments. 
 
 They did n't dare run. Those who tried to escape, who tried to rebel. Those who were late to work or disturbed other workers. They always ended up in the furnace the following day. Burning. 
 
 Working and dying. Working and dying. Working and dying. They were not people they were ants, living for their superiors. Superiors who used them as tools for a means. Even the ant queen would care for her workers. They were less than ants. Working and dying. Working and dying. Working and dying. 
 
 So they trudged on cobbled roads turned flat by their daily commute. They trudged in rain, in snow and in hail. They trudged as their comrades fell. They kept walking. Bad things happened to those who stopped walking. Those who broke the cycle. The rain gave them little comfort as it soaked into their heavy coats. Bones began to ache. People began to fall. They kept walking. 
 
 Bad things happened to those who stopped walking. 

