Here’s my story! Try your own!
By: Allison K. Garcia
Sixteen hours a day they work us. Hour after hour in a cramped warehouse, moving as fast as our small hands can fly. We cut. We sew. We assemble. The air is thick with sweat and tears. And sometimes blood.
We use machines made for adults. We are beaten if we make mistakes. The dollar we bring home every day barely feeds us and keeps us in the same situation, year after year. We cannot rise above. The system has been created to keep us down. Someone needs to do the dirty work. And it falls to us.
They tell us it is for the greater good. That somewhere across the world we are making a child happy when his mother can afford a cheaper game system or better sneakers.
They forget about us. We have no childhood. We have no time for friendship. We have never played. We have not laughed. Our small hands only know work.