[ WP ] you are an employee in a happiness factory .

I woke up at 6am for work, and it was hell getting out of bed. I only work three days a week, so the rest of the time I wake up much later. I've never been able to get used to waking up so early, but the job is pretty easy and it pays very well. You can sacrifice sleeping in if it means living in financial comfort. 
 
 I arrived at work an hour later, passing by some new guy whose name I do n't know. He seems enthusiastic, and I laugh. We all started out that way; proud to land such a well-paying job that brings joy to so many people. Eventually we all learn the truth: A job's a job. Then I see a good friend of mine, another worker, Steve, looking exhausted and drained. `` Been a long three days, huh?'' I ask him with a sympathetic smile. 
 
 `` Always is,'' said Steve, stifling a yawn. `` Going to go home and sleep for at least ten hours before I try to recover from this shift. See you, man, good luck.'' 
 
 I tell him to have a good day and watch him slowly drag his feet off to the exit. Then I sigh, knowing I'll be looking as weary as Steve soon. Who knew making happiness could be so... unhappy? 
 
 I work in a happiness factory. People do n't often realise it, but there are two forms of happiness. There's the kind that your brain releases all on its own, the things that make you smile or laugh or enjoy something. Then there's our kind, the kind we make and sell. The huge factories will sell their happiness to politicians, political parties, water companies, and so on. Big companies and organisations that, through various methods, spread the happiness out throughout the public to keep them content. Our factory is n't that big, though. We mainly sell our happiness to businesses looking to boost their sales or their customer base. If your brain sees, hears, touches, tastes, smells, a product from a particular business, and every time they do, they feel happy, their brain will subconsciously make the connection between that product and their own well-being. It's smart advertising. 
 
 My alarm, fitted to my jeans for my boss to notify me when I'm needed, beeps. I feel that familiar jolt of nervousness in my chest that I get whenever I hear that sound. I walked past the machines, constantly roaring and moving, until I reached the door that said'EXTRACTION AREA: NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL'. I take out my card and swipe it, then the door opens. 
 
 `` Ah, William, have a seat. Had a nice week?'' came the pleasant voice of Heather, whom I see once every week. I sat down in the uncomfortable, leather chair that always reminded me of the dentist, while Heather, face obscured by oversized safety goggles, got all of the equipment ready. 
 
 `` Yeah, got together with some old friends, made a day of it, definitely ca n't complain,'' I answered, trying to keep my voice light and steady, but hearing it shake a little already. My heart was pounding as I saw Heather hold the scalpel. She smiled politely. 
 
 `` Well, you know the drill, Will. Ha!'' She always laughed when she said that, and I always managed to faintly smile in return while trying to keep the contents of my stomach where they were. I held out my bare forearm and shut my eyes tightly. `` Whoops, almost forgot the music, hold on a sec!'' 
 
 One minute later, the upbeat sound of Love Today by Mika rang out, and not ten seconds later, I felt it. The horrible, burning pain of the scalpel slicing down my arm. I screamed, but as always, screaming did n't make any of it stop. I felt the thin tube being inserted into the incision of my arm just as I heard the song lyrics currently playing, `` Everybody's gon na love today, gon na love today, gon na love today.'' Then the process was repeated on my other arm, and tears rolled down my face as I shook uncontrollably, each and every nerve in my body yelling relentlessly, as the tubes sucked the happiness from me. I felt certain that every drop of my blood, every cell, every vein and artery, were slowly being sucked into these tiny tubes, trying to devour every part of me until I'm nothing but a pile of skin on the floor. 
 
 Where else would happiness come from if not harvested from other people? Anyway, a job's a job.
