A New Horizon
The early morning sun casts a soft glow over Oliver's neighbourhood as he exits his small dwelling. He had a worn satchel with handwritten job applications slung across his shoulder, and he was ready for his adventure.
The streets and buildings were covered with soot and air thick with smoke from the factories, which worked tirelessly through the day and night. Distant talking could be heard from the changing factory workers' shifts. Oliver's father was one of the workers. Although the rebellion had cast shadows, Oliver was determined to face the challenge head-on.
As he made his way to the market square, his first stop was at the local florist's. Mrs Johnson, the elderly florist, had always been kind to Oliver and his father. She often invited them for dinner or brought "leftovers" to their home.
"Good morning, Mrs Johnson," Oliver said, beaming with a big smile, trying to impress her.
"Good morning, Oliver. What a pleasant surprise!" Mrs Johnson greeted him warmly and led him inside. "Come in and take a seat. How are you and your father doing?" The aroma of fresh flora gently entices Oliver to enter.
Before Oliver could reply, Mrs Johnson had seated him and offered him a crumpet she had made for breakfast. "Go on, dear. I won't take no for an answer."
Oliver felt happy and safe whenever he visited Mrs Johnson. She never took no for an answer; the small gestures meant so much to him and his dad. Mrs Johnson was like the grandmother he never had.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson, but I have come here because I need your help," Oliver said, reaching into his bag to retrieve a job application. "Do you have any job openings?"
Taking the paper from Oliver's trembling hand, Mrs Johnson asked reassuringly, "Why would a young boy like you need to work? Doesn't your father already take care of you?"
"He does take care of me, but with the rebellion, he has to work longer at the factory". Oliver announced with concern. "Dad is already tired and overworked. I'm worried." He steeled himself and sat up with a look of determination. "That's why I'm going to help, so Dad doesn't have to work so hard anymore."
"Oh dear Oliver, what a thoughtful young man you are. Let's see what we can do," Mrs Johnson said as she read Oliver's job application. She highlighted minor grammatical mistakes and said, "While I can't offer you a job, I can help you find work. I have a few friends in the community that could use some help."
Mrs Johnson returned to the backroom with the edited job application. As she left, she asked Oliver to watch the store for her. Oliver waited for Mrs. Johnson to return; Oliver sat in anticipation, tapping his foot from nervousness, waiting for her return.
Oliver could hear the clicking and clattering of a machine coming from the backroom, similar to the ones at the munitions factory where his father worked, giving Oliver a gut-wrenching reminder as to why he was actively doing this.
Oliver couldn't believe his eyes when Mrs Johnson walked back into the room carrying a pouch over her shoulder and a handful of papers. To his amazement, she had replaced his handwritten job application with printed versions. Oliver had never seen anyone with a personal printing machine before, and the sight filled him with equal parts of wonder and envy. It was a stark reminder of the challenges of being poor in a world where technology was reserved for few.
A dark cloud gloomed over little Oliver; why couldn't he be one of the fortunate ones who could afford such luxuries in a demanding world? Why did he have to struggle? Why does his father have to sacrifice when others don't?
"Oliver, I have something for you." Mrs Johnson's caring smile snapped Oliver back to reality. "These are for you", she said, handing over the crisply printed job applications.
Another small gesture from Mrs Johnson gave Oliver the realisation he needed. Although his family was poor, he still had many people within the community willing to help him and his father out. A warm sense of gratitude washed away the negative emotions he had just experienced.
"Thank you, Mrs Johnson", replied Oliver, his voice filled with gratitude and unbelieve that she would give him something valuable. "Is there..." Before he could continue.
"Here, give me that." Mrs Johnson took his worn satchel from him. "We can't have you carrying important documents in this tattered old thing. You're a man now." She handed over the new pouch she had brought from the backroom.
"I can't accept this; it's too much. I don't have any way to repay you." Oliver quickly said in a panic. He had no way to afford something this nice.
"Now, you know I won't take no for an answer. You can think of it as payment for looking after my shop." She said, standing the young boy up straight and brushing his hair.
Oliver stood quietly while Mrs Johnson brushed his hair and cleaned the dirt from his face; her hands were gently on his skin and exuded a loving warmth he had only felt from her and his father. Oliver's determination was ignited further by the compassion and love Mrs Johnson had provided him. Not only does he have to help his father, but he needs to repay the kindness shown to him by the community over the years.
"Listen, well, these are my friends..." Mrs Johnson explained where Oliver would have the most luck finding a job around the market square. "Just tell them, Granny Lizzy sent you."
"Granny Lizzy?" Oliver responded with confusion.
"Of course, dear child, am I not your Granny Lizzy?" Mrs Johnson said as she finished getting Oliver presentable for his job search. "And I want you to call me Granny from now on. After all, we are family at this point."
Oliver was overwhelmed with happiness and hugged Mrs Johnson instinctively. As they hugged, Oliver felt a flood of conflicting emotions. Gratitude, joy, and a newfound sense of belonging filled his heart, but he also felt a hint of guilt. He pulled away slightly, his eyes searching Mrs. Johnson's face.
"Granny Lizzy," Oliver began, his voice quivering with mixed emotions. "I don't know how to thank you. This means so much, but I should be able to do something in return."
Mrs. Johnson's eyes softened, and she cupped Oliver's face. "Dear, you don't need to repay me. Helping each other is what family does. And you're my family now."
Oliver nodded, silently understanding what she meant. As Mrs Johnson guided him towards the exit, he couldn't shake off the weight of responsibility. The streets outside seemed to echo with the sounds of the working factories, a constant reminder of the challenges ahead.
Upon reaching the doorstep, Mrs Johnson smiled reassuringly at Oliver and said, "Now, young man, you can't stay here forever; you have important business to attend to." She firmly rested the pouch on his shoulder, "Remember, these job applications are just the beginning; the rest is up to you."
Oliver took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of nervousness and resolve. "I won't forget, Granny Lizzy. I'll make sure to mention you to your friends."
"Don't worry about dinner tonight; I've got it covered. Just focus on the task at hand," Mrs Johnson said, giving him a final encouraging pat on the back.
As Oliver stepped into the street heading towards the market square, he tightly held the pouch filled with printed job applications. He couldn't help but glance back at Mrs. Johnson's shop, feeling the warmth of her support lingering within him. With a newfound sense of purpose, he set off towards his goal.
As Oliver navigated his way to the market square, the rhythmic clattering of distant machines reminiscent of his father's workplace could be heard. Each step he took matched the beat of the industrial beast's restless movements.
As Oliver absorbed the sights and sounds of the world around him, the pungent smell of the city, a mixture of soot and smokey air, became the backdrop to the recruitment and propaganda posters regarding the ongoing rebellion on the African continent, the canvas for the community's struggles vividly displayed on the walls.
"Workers Deserve More." A powerful message hastily written over the posters echoes the pleas of factory workers such as Oliver's father. More writing followed further along the walls.
"Down with the elite"
"Hope in unity"
"Equality now"
Oliver began to understand it was not just him and his father struggling to make ends meet but also the community that he lived in. The graffiti gives the boy a visual shout of the discontent with current socioeconomic disparities. Each message casts a darker shadow over young Oliver's job search.
Oliver finally reached the market square. The once bustling centre thriving with the opportunity now resonated with a sombre melody of whispers of a divided society.
"They say the elite live comfortably while we struggle."
"The old fruit and vegetable store around the corner shut. How many more of us have to lose our livelihoods before the elites help us."
"I heard the factory foreman is cutting even more corners to meet the demands of the military."
As he passed closed storefronts and abandoned shops, the empty gazes and whispers of the people, each carrying their own burden of worries, intensified Oliver's need to make a difference.