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Chapter One
Factory
the last birthday i ever had, years ago, was the one where i got shot instead of presents.
silence fell after the gunman fired. cherries fell too, fat and juicy in the snow. i heard boots crunching closer as the man came to see how well he'd done.
i shake my head.
those thoughts creep in a place i'm not ready to remember yet, and let's face it—where i come from there aren't any cherries, it never snows, and remembering's Against The Rules.
i come from a bad place. they wanted to keep me there but i had other plans. plans are Against The Rules, of course; in fact, everything's Against The Rules. the crazy thing is (and am i the only one who's ever noticed?) there are no Rules where i come from, not ones they tell you about anyway. you only find out what the Rules are when you break them. i know what you're thinking! you're thinking, that's not so bad if you're smart. you're thinking, why not watch and see what other workers get punished for, then say, whoa, best i don't do the same. that's what you might think if you'd never worked in Factory before. get this: here in Factory, even though the Rules don't exist, they change all the time. somehow Director always has a Rule ready to be broken whenever he feels in a punishing mood.
Director likes Rules. he also likes nice food, fine wines, and working out with weights so he's a lean, mean shouting machine. Director thinks he's young and handsome. is he young? i've forgotten how to count things like that. is he handsome? hardsome more like. Supervisor fancies him almost as much as he fancies himself. she tries to smile at him and looks to see how many buttons are undone on his shirt. while Director's up on his platform, Supervisor walks Factory floor. Supervisor doesn't have crinkly white Hygie socks like us workers. she walks softly softly in her no-sound slippers and you can only tell she's there when she hisses on your neck, letting you know you're almost breaking a Rule just by being alive. when her breath hangs in the air you feel so tense you could crack like a bent bone. you wait there wondering, should i stand still?—cos maybe standing still's Against The Rules. then you think, should i keep on working? only maybe that's Against The Rules too.
Supervisor's good at punishing people: smack 'em, whack 'em, watch 'em cry. one time a girl was hit so hard her eye fell out. i don't know if they put it back in again and i don't know what Rule the girl broke. there just isn't room for someone to know everything, unless you're Director, of course, cos he knows how to brush his own teeth, gloss his own hair, and how to send a spot of spit down from his platform onto whatever lucky worker's walking below. oh yeah, Director knows he's A1 Ace Supremo. except when Bossman calls.
Bossman's the baddest man, and he comes here once a year. Director shivers when the Bossman's shadow's near. maybe he wishes he had a hood to hide his face like i do. he shakes Bossman's gold-shiny hand and waits, and we wait too. will Bossman be pleased . . . ? will he smile his special Bossman smile and pull that envelope from his pocket? yes! he does! we're all ready to flop with relief. Director tears the envelope and looks inside. it's arrived! an invitation to Bossman's birthday. unlike me he gets one every year.
Director loves parties, especially this birthday party. even before the big day he drinks so much wine his eyes almost pop out of his orange-tanned face, and when he makes it back to Factory after the fun, he'll have a hoarse voice and maybe a couple of hickeys on his neck. some years he brings back strings of silver/red streamers. one year he almost didn't show up at all, but that was too good to be true. he was back three days later complaining of a monster headache.
this year Director's more excited than ever about Bossman's birthday. he presses his belly against the platform rails and boasts he's got an invite to the biggest party on the planet. bet you wish you could go! ha ha ha you can't. you'd kill it dead anyway, you funless lumps of mud. d'you think it would hurt to maybe crack your faces to smile every once in a while? c'mon, let's have some music, you soulless little shitzers! sing!
he makes us sing the same tune over and over and no one complains, cos we all remember the time when Bottle Seal 55 forgot the words to Director's favorite song, oh yeah. let's just say she won't be singing anymore, or talking, or working, or breathing, even, so now i'm the new Bottle Seal 55.
no i'm not! i forgot!
they'll have to get a new 55 cos i'm not going to be what they tell me to be ever again. now i'm the girl with the Plan, the girl-who-can, the girl who's breaking the biggest Rule of all. get this—i'm leaving. i've always known i'd go, as sure as high tide follows low. you see, there's something i've got to do.
girl, you ain't got to do nothing, is what Packer 67 always told me. an' if you have, she said, it's this: look small and think small. work your shift, eat your food before some starving shitzer eats it for you, sleep your sleep, then get up and do it all over again.
i do look small.
i bend my shoulders and pull my Hygie hood over my face. i don't talk much, pretending i've got nothing to say. at the end of every shift i peel off the Hygie gloves and rub my hands with Stingo. oh, Stingo! the only smell . . .
Excerpted from Cherry Heaven by L. J. Adlington All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
