Splintered Wings
As the grey expanse covered the horizon of Morecambe, a cold, grey world that acted almost like the mirror for one woman who sat in her small bedsit the drafty whistle from tiny gaps in the window frame, the room itself smelt faintly of varnish and wood; sitting on a countertop meant for food, sat Laura newest creation – a hand-carved, intricate little wooden bird.
A small thing that she had spent so long working on, she had no measure for just how long she’d taken, its wings were etched with details that had cost her almost three weeks of sleepless nights and cramped aching fingers.
For Two-Years she had turned her little bedsit into a sanctuary for her ambition, it had taken her years to even escape being in a crowded shared accommodation she often found herself unable to get sleep to partying flatmates, now, at thirty-four, Laura had convinced herself that she could finally pour her soul into what had always been her greatest hobby; her craft – Pottery, Whittling; the intricate weaving she felt demonstrated her love to make with her hands.
On a suggestion, she even reluctantly decided to share her creations, sharing that initially had drawn moderate interest that surprised her, though no one ever spoke or commented, merely likes, but, it felt enough for her the idea that someone liked what she crafted, the effort she had put in, one picture became two, then three and then four per-day.
Initially, she held onto the small viewership, it brought a smile when she saw it, but, would always turn her focus back to her own world, focusing on her craft, searching for jobs, simply getting her life on track.
At a restaurant, she managed to get herself a temporary position, a position that proved exhausting, the loud clinking and muffled conversations all blended together, the occasional rudeness she encountered though became increasingly more frequent, her colleagues would tell her simply to ignore it, one, a woman in her early forties even stopped by Laura during closing time “Just got t’ignore ‘em love” she said with a thick rumbling drawl
Laura’s eyebrow lifted in response “Even when they’re just downright rude an’ insulting ye?” she was confused, it was acceptable to just let people belittle you in a public space, people accepted that
“You’ve got bills t’pay ‘aven’t you?” was simply the response; a response that brought the gears turning inside Layura’s head, She did not want to stay in that environment
Not much longer from the conversation, Laura would find herself subject to a rather humiliating confrontation with a customer, while her manager simply waved off her concerns and attempts to explain.
On the following days, she would hand her notice in, refusing to continue in the job, instead, continuing her search for new work whilst resuming her hobbies, once again sharing her work.
Like before though, the views drew a small smile, but also a flicker of irritation, the views were becoming less and less, she still never received comments, but she also noticed no one even liked any of her posts either.
Instead of being discouraged, she decided to pour more effort in, she repeatedly found herself cutting her fingers in her effort whilst also putting in the effort to share; but, as Twenty-Twenty Six rolled through, she had noticed just how utilitarian the world was beginning to become, she noticed the shifting trends, the way people changed how posts would be made to extend their reach.
While the world outside felt more abrasive and hostile; Local High Streets, what had once thrived in her childhood, memories of people flowing between shops now felt like graveyards as funding was taken away, the rhetoric of We Must all pull together from men and women that would never struggle, that knew nothing about struggle.
Whilst she made efforts to continue her hobby, she also found the squeeze on her financials get worse, yet discovered how little jobs were available.
As she sat at her computer reading a new application, she frowned “Why do I need all these qualifications for something tha’ I will just be mopping in?” she grumbled, clicking through the pages, her head shaking as she kept reading
“Bloody ‘ell” she complained finally clicking to send her application through – though, like so many other jobs, she would receive no response back
Returning her focus back to her hobby, she found she was no longer getting enjoyment like she once did, she was often tired, but she continued anyway; when she spoke with her mother, she would continue to be encouraging, and she would continue to make the push to post and share on her social media pages.
Sitting at her computer one late night though she noticed that the pattern of decline was still persisting despite every effort; her resolve to keep pushing was beginning to corrode; as she clicked ‘Refresh’ once again, she saw nothing had changed, trying to find ways to fix it, she came across one video that stuck out, it was a video that lasted little more than eight minutes, but yet, it was simply a video of a girl filming herself downing…., nothing – she was simply standing in a kitchen, eating and complaining about her videos being less than Four-Million; Laura’s eyes flicked to the view counter, it had garnered just under Four-Million and was still climbing.
“Wha’?” she blinked, leaning back in her chair; she felt a flicker of that hope she’d been maintaining flicker in defeat.
Two weeks following that video; Laura would finally secure herself a new job at a at a warehouse; it was difficult; soul-crushing at times, but, it provided her a much needed income, she could at last begin paying her bills without support, but, life here would change too.
Her manager, an overbearing figure, his presence was always suffocating and often would task her with jobs she struggled with, whilst his clear favourites would often be given longer breaks or easier tasks, when she was found the bravery to ask someone, she was met simply with “You’re imagining things” but she knew she wasn’t, she watched it, she could see the different treatment
Not long after, it seemed like her Manager seemed to have it out for her much more frequently for daring to even ask someone, every time he spoke, he always found someway to criticise her “You’re too slow” one day
“You need to improve that attitude” he told her the next “You need to have the right attitude” he would tell her
Laura, in frustration found herself arguing back on one difficult day “I’m getting ‘em moved as fast as I can; I could do it faster if I ‘ad some ‘elp” she argued
With a shake of his head, he gestured absently “You’re a liability” he sneered at her; the words loud enough that people around her could hear; they didn’t even look up, they didn’t offer a nod of recognition, the slightest flicker – the isolation in the workplace screamed loudly in a suffocating vacuum
By the end of the second week though, it became overtly hostile; she found herself not simply isolated but often heard the whispers about her when no one realised she was there, often, she found herself sat at the back of the breakroom simply to try becoming invisible.
When she began trying to speak with someone above her, trying to reach out above her manager, she was met with the same indifference, the reassurance provided was often hollow and never followed up.
The world around her simply felt hostile and depressing, when attending a meeting her manager would response simply with “We’ll make adjustments; but what your claiming isn’t what looks to be happening on the shop floor”
She found herself being constantly gaslit; a poison that just seeped into her skin making her question if she was beginning to imagine things, second guessing how she remembered things being said; the way people sneered, was she simply misreading them.
In conversations with her parents though, her mothers voice seemed more brittle and thin than usual, as she tried to explain, she spoke rapidly “Mum, I am proper strugglin’ ‘ere” she said, her fingers tapping at her desk as she stared at the screen of her mother
She took a breath, her eyes flicking to the left a moment, then forwards again “This job…., they’re being reet cruel, and they’ve cut me ‘ours, I don’t even know ‘ow I am goin’ t’make the gas and electrical bill since its gone up again”
Laura’s mother simply sighed in response “Laura….” The sound reminded Laura of everything else that was going on around her, the sound echoed that same exhaustion of someone clearly bored “Maybe if you spend less time trinkets for now, maybe take extra hours to earn a little more”
Laura blinked, her expression shifted “They cut me ‘ours” she repeated “..’ow do I get ‘ours if they’ve cut ‘em?”
“Love, your clearly getting’ tired” Laura’s mum replied with a sigh “If you put in a little more effort, maybe they’ll give you those ‘ours back yeah?; yer father thinks ye need t’go out more often too”
Laura just blinked, the shift made little sense to her, but, it piqued her frustrations “I ‘ave no friends t’go anywhere wi’”
“Then ye need t’go out an’ make some love; we’re not goin’ t’be ‘ere forever ye know, ye need to do things yerself”
Laura felt a well of frustration build “I do things meself!” she snapped
“Don’t get snappy wi’ me” Laura’s mother snapped back “Look, it’s late, yer tired, go t’bed, ye’ll feel be’er in t’ mornin’ she said firmly
“Fine” Laura shook her head slightly, shifting her gaze away from the camera, she heard a brief ‘Good Night’ before the call ended before she could offer a response, for a moment, Laura simply sat there, staring, frustration boiling
Taking a breath, her eyes drifted a little more to her left, towards the little wooden bird she had spent so long working on, reaching for it; she picked it up gently, bringing it closer and looking at it, her gaze softening as she stared; it looked almost like it was trying to fly.
For Laura though…., she wasn’t sure if she could even reach any further, she just felt her frustration drop, it wasn’t dissipating, it felt like it was just moving into something more depressive, she felt as though she was failing in everything she tried.
Lifting her eyes away, she simply put the Little Bird aside, pushed herself up, her knees banging against her desk as she moved away, moving over to lay down on her bed, in the dark of her room as she closed her eyes to sleep, just on the floor beside her desk, the Little Bird had fallen silently to the floor, one of its delicate wings having snapped clean off in the fall.
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