A Short Tale of Woe
THE HEAT WAS BECOMING
unbearable when we walked single file towards the Jobs Allocation
window. The furnaces were running full blast, giving off the only light
in that dark, oppressive place. Up ahead, as each poor soul approached,
the iron window opened; items were handed out, then it closed again. All
the while could be heard the overseer's monotonous: "move along there,
no holding up the queue."
The bucket was old,
the handle was broken and the bottom had rusted through.
An iron door at the
side of the window opened. A big chap walked through and had the first
friendly smile I had seen since coming to this place. I recognised him
immediately. I looked down at the pile of papers; the top sheet read:
The Book of Prefaces by Alasdair Gray: for typesetting by the end
of the new millennium.
© Joe Murray