Keep it Up
#6 of Little Nothings
Guess what? It's another writing exercise! Nothing else for this, enjoy it for what it is.
"Good, keep it up."
Shut up. Kevin was tired of hearing that passive-aggressive bullshit, the manager's way of saying 'you used to suck, now you don't suck, keep not sucking.' Never mind he already worked the press faster than suggested for safety. Never mind the last guy lost his hand doing it like this. No, so long as they're churning out product as quick as possible, that's all that matters. _Goddamn bastards._God forbid he actually lose his hand like the last guy, then they'd keep him around just long enough to keep lawyers off their backs, then dump his ass on the curb faster than you can say 'unemployment.' He couldn't afford that, not now, not again.
'She's dying.' Who the hell tells you like that? Crappy-ass, overpaid doctor. Kevin almost wondered if it really was as bad as he said it was or if he was just fishing for more money. It was obvious though; he had only look down at her on the bed, at his own sister, wasting away upon the bed, to know that it was the truth. Frail, wan, almost hollow, she seemed half-dead already.
He explained it to her as best he could, when she finally woke up, her hand in his own, warm one. He explained that they could treat her, that they could keep her alive. He didn't tell her that he had to take on a second job, with overtime, to pay for it. He didn't tell her that he was just as likely to die doing them as she was if he didn't. He did tell her it would all be okay, that she'd be fine, and that she'd come home soon.
The machinery whirred and hissed, massive pieces of steel moving with a force that could cleave a car in half. The press continued, and so did Kevin.
"Good, keep it up."