Published: 2025-09-07

It was 5:00 PM, and the loud machines at the shoe factory suddenly stopped. “It was a good day of work, let’s do it again tomorrow,” John said.

John was a young factory worker for Pete’s shoes, “A pair of shoes for every man.” Was Pete’s slogan. As production halted, employees disappeared from their workstations.

A yellow light started shining over John’s workstation. His black hair seemed to become golden under its beaming glow. “Here it comes.” John said. The light engulfed John’s languid body; when it turned off, John was gone. He was disintegrated.

It was the same ritual every day: 8:00 AM, the machines start operating, the workers start producing; 5:00 PM, the machines stop, the workers disappear. From Monday to Friday, that was the reality of billions of workers around the world; a rinse and repeat ritual that they grew accustomed to after hundreds of years.

It all started when tech titan Occlusion invented the matter displacement machine. As its name indicates, the machine could disintegrate organic matter, move it outside of time, and put it back together at any moment. There was, however, a side effect when used on humans: they were revitalized. Hunger, thirst, sleep, even mild illnesses like the common cold, by disintegrating a person and bringing them back, they would feel like new.

The possibilities were infinite, with a machine that does not let one go hungry, feeding the world was not only possible, but feasible. The whole world’s hopes suddenly rested on this machine.

Then the industry monopolized it. Employees were disintegrated during their breaks so they could work at peak performance after it. Not long after, they were being disintegrated at the end of the day and brought back the next day at the beginning of their shift.

Life outside of work didn’t exist, except on the weekends when employees could leave the factories for 48 hours. It was a new dawn for the industrial world.

That weekend, John went home. He knocked on the old wooden door; the white paint peeled off as his hairy knuckles made contact with the big wooden plank.

“Who is it?” Said an old, raspy voice from inside the house.
“It’s me, Johnny.”
“Johnny? Why wouldn’t you use your key?”
“I told you, old man, I don’t have a key. I’m not allowed to carry anything metallic at work.”

The door opened from inside, and a tall, middle-aged man with gray hair stood in the doorway. It was John’s father,

“Huh. Come inside, and lock the door behind you.” He said.

The house remained just as John remembered it; the same pictures of him and his brother in primary school hanging on the wall; the same old furniture; the same pine tree smell. This was home.

“How’s mom?” John asked.
“She ain’t better, I can tell you that.”
“Can I see her?”
“You may, but she’s sleeping. I wouldn’t want you to startle her.”

John entered his mother’s room. She slept placidly over a small bed. Her feet protruded from the bed. A small fan in front of her rotated slowly, rattling. She laid over the same flower-patterned bed covers John remembered from his youth. Next to her bed, over the night table, a small bottle of pills and a glass of water.

“What are those for?” John asked.
“Tranquilizers. Sometimes she gets altered. Those pills help her sleep.”
“Do you think she’d recognize me?”
“Why should she? You’re never home.”
“You know why I can’t be home.”
“Because you choose not to. You can fool anyone else, but I’m too old to fall for your bullshit.”

John’s mother grunted. His father looked at her and then turned to John, “C’mon, leave her rest.”

John sat in the living room. He felt the rawness of the wooden chairs with the tip of his fingers.

“Has my brother been here lately?” He asked.

His father came from the kitchen carrying a glass of lemonade.

“Of course he has; he’s always here. He takes care of his mother.” His father said.

John’s father placed the glass in the center of the wooden table in front of John.

“I hope you like it.”

John gulped the lemonade and then put the glass back in the center of the table.

“It was good.” He said.
“I know.”

John started to fidget with his hands and look around. His father sat across from him with his gaze fixed.

“Listen, I think I’m gonna go and visit my friends. The weekend is short, and there are a lot of people I haven’t seen in a while.”
“You’re not staying for dinner?”
“I don’t think I can. No. But I brought this month’s share. It’s not much, but it should at least cover Mom’s pills and some food. Take it.”

His father stood up.

“It’s always the same with you, Johnny. You leave for a month, then you come back with a bag of change and want to be received with open arms. Johnny, our savior. He brings with him an I-don’t-care attitude and 30 silver coins. We should bow before him.”
“Dad, we’ve talked about this.”
“You have talked about this. Nobody else. You Johnny. You spent your days locked up in that factory, waiting for that green light to give you cancer; you don’t know what your family has to go through.”
“If I stayed here, there would be another mouth to feed. By staying at the factory, I don’t need food, I don’t need water, I don’t need sleep; I am young and able, I can work and provide for you.”
“For what, Johnny? So you are not even present when your own mother dies?”

John said nothing more. His mother started coughing.

“I’ll take a look at her.” John said.
“I got it. You go visit your friends. The weekend is short.”

John’s father walked towards the room where his wife rested. He then stopped and turned at John, smiling. “And take your money, Johnny. We’ll do just fine.”

When John’s father came out of the bedroom, John was already gone, but the money was still on the table.

THE END.