The workers had been quiescent. Docile.

They’d kept their faces pointed at screens, assembly lines. They’d soldiered on with blisters, bent backs, blotched faces, thinning eyebrows, and sore knees. They’d kept their heads down like puppy dogs waiting to be petted.

The workers were honest. They were punctual. They’d punched clocks, in and out, in and out, in and out. Diurnally. Nocturnally. They’d done their duties and tasks.

But their bellies ached. And their arms were forks. And there’s only so much one can withstand.

The “straw that broke the camel’s back”??? Actually, it wasn’t one straw. It wasn’t an isolated incident or event. It was a culmination. A cresting wave. A shift in tectonic plates. A simmering resentment that’d brought to boil. Until it spilled. And the wheels fell off the chariot...

A cream-colored blanket of smog foamed over the sky. A scent of ash lingered. But the smokestacks stood dry. The lights turned off. The factory’s superstructure appearing abandoned. Nowhere near its normal beehive of activity.