Susan yawned as she walked down the automated production line. Night shift was boring and she was worn out. As head of maintenance she was responsible for finding any faults and ensuring that they were fixed as quickly as possible. Downtime was money was what she was always being told. The factory was an automated plant which produced a wide range of pick an...
Dear LIT Readers, however many you are, I decided to try my hand at a longer story with an ongoing line of events. Since I’m an artist living in a small New England town with many remnants of its failed industrial heritage in evidence, it seemed like an apt setting for a longer story. The invention of “The Art Factory”, a large industrial complex converted...
(Author's Note: For those who feel the need to work out the timeframes involved, one second is defined as approximately nine billion transitions between the two hyperfine levels of the ground state of the caesium atom at 0 Kelvin. I apologize to those who had hoped there would be no math in this story, but the Girls are not human, do not come from our solar...
One also rather interesting conquest was with a lady a few years older than myself. Heather was the laboratory supervisor at one of the factories where I regularly made deliveries. Now when I say delivery, my particular truck at the time was a bulk food grade liquids tanker, the nature of which required product testing prior to discharge being authorised et...
This is a story about a man who obtained a job maintaining a factory owned by a woman after her husband passed away. The factory produces service entrance equipment or what used to be known as a fuse box. Other products such as sub panels and disconnects for large equipment are also manufactured. I arrived on time for my interview with Irene Harris and s...
It turned out to be a very dark and stormy Friday afternoon. Dull grey clouds lingered above the factories and rain fell heavily upon the tin rooftops, sounding like a symphony of symbols. Bright flashes of lightening and bellowing thunder rolled across the sky rumbling through the ground like an earth quake. It was the worst thunder storm this year. Being...
This is a continuation, as in read the first part first. I mention because a great many can't seem to understand that part even when the name has something chapter 3 and so forth on it. Probably works fine as a read alone but darnit I type these so you miss out on plenty if you don't read the first part so if you haven't read the first part, go read the fir...
"Be a good girl and stay here," said Daddy. "I really need a presence here, just a security factor, you know darling." "But Daddy, there's nothing to do and how long are you going to be?" I whined petulantly, smoothing my brown curly locks and admiring my superbly manicured nails. He fiddled with his briefcase and shaking his head turned to a filing cabine...
************************************************* Copyright Oggbashan September 2005 revised July 2014 The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living pe...
My name is Jeremy Brunski. I was born in Massachusetts in the year 1869. My adoptive father Liam was a farmer. My adoptive mother Nicole was a teacher. I had two adoptive brothers, Wilson and Jason. I lived my whole life in the state. I have always been a bit different from the people around me. I loved books. I loved poetry. I was a dreamer. Those things we...