Lunch on a Skyscraper
One
“Hey man, you got a smoke?”
The workers were sat on the steel which dangled so fatefully high, bottles and work plans in hand, taking a load off from their taxing job. A surly looking man dug in his pocket, then produced a hand-rolled cigarette in his labor tainted hands. “Here.”
That’s how these men spent their lunch hour day in and day out, never attempting to break the routine since it had been working for them so far; superstition weighed heavy in the back of their minds, and they needed all of the luck they could get given the state of their lives. The hot wind made their every single movement languid in attempt to preserve what little energy the heat hadn't drained from them. The altitude was gradually strangling them, for the clouds were creating humidity every man had struggle swallowing.
It was the year 1932 and the sweat dripping from the workers faces mirrored the tears their families were expelling sorrowfully at home. Hunger was crippling the nation and the meal everyone so desperately craved was a decent paycheck. These workers were working fourteen hours a day and still came home to an emaciated estate unable to cleanse the grime from their shoulders. The haunting images of their dependent wives and children were the driving force for their arduous work days. It was ironic how a skyscraper that would profit millions was the project, when the very men who were constructing it couldn't scrape together thirty cents to buy something as simple as eggs and bread.
The heat and desperation of their situation drew out the last gasping breath from one worker, and so he decided to step out onto the heat thickened clouds.
The workers were sat on the steel which dangled so fatefully high, bottles and work plans in hand, taking a load off from their taxing job. A surly looking man dug in his pocket, then produced a hand-rolled cigarette in his labor tainted hands. “Here.”
That’s how these men spent their lunch hour day in and day out, never attempting to break the routine since it had been working for them so far; superstition weighed heavy in the back of their minds, and they needed all of the luck they could get given the state of their lives. The hot wind made their every single movement languid in attempt to preserve what little energy the heat hadn't drained from them. The altitude was gradually strangling them, for the clouds were creating humidity every man had struggle swallowing.
It was the year 1932 and the sweat dripping from the workers faces mirrored the tears their families were expelling sorrowfully at home. Hunger was crippling the nation and the meal everyone so desperately craved was a decent paycheck. These workers were working fourteen hours a day and still came home to an emaciated estate unable to cleanse the grime from their shoulders. The haunting images of their dependent wives and children were the driving force for their arduous work days. It was ironic how a skyscraper that would profit millions was the project, when the very men who were constructing it couldn't scrape together thirty cents to buy something as simple as eggs and bread.
The heat and desperation of their situation drew out the last gasping breath from one worker, and so he decided to step out onto the heat thickened clouds.
♠ ♠ ♠
Hope you all enjoyed this one! I know it's brief, but it was fun to write.Feel free to comment c: