Consequence

Angry welts burned where the ropes had dug into his skin. His fingers tingled as blood rushed to fill them after so long restrained. But the pain was glorious. The pain meant he was alive. It meant that this dark, cramped space was not Hell.

Not yet.

They must have hit him over the head, or smothered him. He didn’t remember being put in that horrible place, only that the boss man’s leg-breakers had pulled him off the assembly line. Faces of his colleagues, friends he had known his whole life, flashed by in his memory, blurred with the panic and terror of what would be done to him. Of what had been done to him.

He was… the boss man hadn’t said anything to him. Had he even been there when this had been done? Or had he been off somewhere doing whatever it is rich people waste their time with instead of an honest day‘s work. That was more likely. Useless fat pigs the lot of them.

But the envy refused to leave his head. The bone-deep, desperate desire to enjoy some of the luxuries he saw his betters filling their days with. And there was something deep in his soul that wanted to look down on others as they labour, not in pride of ownership but rather in pride of place.

It had been a lovely dream.

Now he was alone in the dark.

Alone with his ghosts and his regrets.

A few meetings, that was all. A few meetings and a few conversations in hushed tones with others he thought might be trust worthy. He had been careful, everyone knew how companies treated union organizers, but someone must have turned on him.

Not that it was any good speculating now, of course. Not unless… he stretched out his hands to either side in the dark until his finger tips touched the cold brickwork of what he assumed an oven of some kind. Unused in God only knew how many years.

The space was tall enough to stand up in, if barely. His hair brushed the ceiling so that if he could have taken a step, he would bump it on the tiny rise between one step and the next. But there wasn’t enough space to even stretch out his arms, let alone walk.

Brushing his fingers against the walls again, he knew with a sudden, terrible certainty what had been done to him. On three sides, the bricks were old, worn and covered in soot. But the on the fourth, they were smooth. Clean bricks that he could feel being marked by his fingers as they left trails of soot acorss them. The mortar was still slightly damp in places.

Desperation suddenly choked him and he threw himself against the new wall. It wasn’t possible, he couldn’t be there. His family relied on him since the boss threatened to expel them all into the winter snows after his father lost a hand when the foreman pushed him into one of the machines.

That was why he had gone to those stupid meetings. That was why he had taken the risk, he didn’t want to destroy the boss’s empire, didn’t want to tear down what had been built. He only wanted to provide for his family. He didn’t want to see them suffer.

”You never will,” whispered a voice in the darkness. “Now you won’t have to see them starve. You won’t have to see your sisters sell themselves, you’ll be dead long before.”

No. No, it wasn’t right! He had only wanted to provide, only wanted them to have a better life. The girls and little Robert, they were clever, all of them. They deserved a better life than working in the boss’s mill! He had been supposed to help them, before his father’s accident. Supposed to finish school and make a better life for himself and them too.

His nails broke as he scrabbled against the unfeeling bricks and mortar. Bits of it were still wet, there was a chance the could knock one loose, or push the whole thing over, if only his head would stop spinning.

Someone would come to find him, they had to. There were laws weren’t there? No one was allowed to do this to people. But the boss paid the police, didn’t he? They never looked into any report brought against the boss or the foremen, instead the reporters disappeared.

Blood started to trail down his fingers, but he ignored the pain. It was getting easier, his head lighter. Maybe there was a chance, he just needed to keep trying. Needed… what did he need?

Slowly, his desperate clawing at the wall stopped, his hands dropped to his sides. Why couldn’t he breathe? There had to be a mistake, he had never even signed a card. Just gone to a meeting or two. He was a good man, had always been. There was no profit in fighting.

Pain clutched his ribs, his stomach twisting in knots. There were tiny specks of light dancing before his eyes. What did that mean? He thought it might be a good sign, his legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground.

Barely audible apologies burbled from his lips. Had they always been doing that? He could barely hear them over the pounding in his head and the ringing in his ears.

He was going to die.

No. No! He couldn’t let that happen! No one would ever hire his father, the last time he tried to get a job, the interviewer had had him physically removed and threatened to break the other hand. “Crippled filth like you should know your place,” is that what had been said?

Thoughts were coming to him slowly, and he raised his hands to the clean wall again. It had been clean, now blood and soot streaked it where his fingers had started to carve tiny grooves. Bones grated against the bricks and he tried, still sobbing apologies and promises.

But God only listens to the prayers of people rich enough to pay for the privilege.