Hashtags
Okay class quiet please, to your seats and hush up now.
Stop giggling @HexGirl.
Today's lesson is all about Hashtags, what they are and what they...
I heard that remark and it's not funny @JeffStewart, Hashtags are nothing to do with hash pipes - see me after class @MiGGiE.
Now then, Hashtags are a means of denoting the theme of a piece of written work, but they are far more also...
@Riversong nobody is interested in your new tattoo so cover it up please and see me after class.
Now where was I, ah yes, Hashtags! They can denote also any particular emotion on Social Media for example on Facebook if I post a message and end it with #Happy, then it shows my emotional....
@MaggieGreene you are not at home now, so stop hitting @A and put it away. See me after class.
Yes @Z you may use the toilet but quietly please.
Right then please open up your Prose pages and turn to Hashtags, oh for the love of all that's holy, YES @ArabWallflower you can use my charger...
On the Hashtag page you will see a list of available popular Hashtags that your Prose account has provided for you, of course you are also free to use your own...
No no no of course you can't buy them in the shops you silly child @Burrfoot they exist freely within your own mind.
So then, yes yes it's a very nice drawing @A but please put it away.
So then, for your homework tonight I want you to, ah, yes, @Z you seem to have caught yourself in your zipper so go see Nurse - stop giggling @HexGirl it isn't funny!
Tonight's homework I want you to write in your books something using Hashtags that is interesting and informative. Class dismissed.
Yes yes @MaggieGreene I know, I know, please save it for the playground. Off you go, kittens.
The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire
Fore fore note: I know it's a repost, but a lot of you haven't seen it, since it was the very first thing I ever posted here :D ISNT THAT COOL?!?! Anyway, I watch a short, 5 minute video in history class last year (8th grade) and was immediately entranced. So, I went home, did some research and WALLAH! The short story was born! I wrote this… quite awhile ago and I'd like to think that I've come far in my writing experience (although that's probably not true)
If you have any questions, go ahead and ask me! I am a history nerd :)
Fore note: The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory was a famous business in 1911 that made clothes for the United States. The factory was located in Manhattan, New York City. The factory workers were mainly girls from the ages of sixteen to twenty-three, but the youngest that died was 14 and the eldest 43.
This story takes place on floor 8 of the 10-story Asch Building, which is where the fire began.
A total of 146 of the garment workers died in this fire. 123 women and 23 men. This is realistic fiction, so my characters have no connection with the real life people who took part in the carnage.
Please enjoy and if there is a number in parenthesis, it means see below :)
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I slid the shirt I was working on under the rapidly rising and falling needle, stitching together the shirt I was given. I was proud, for this was my third one that day, one more than average. (1)
I turned to my sister Viveka (2), and whispered, for we were not allowed to talk, "I'm halfway finished with my third shirt for today!"
She whispered back with a smile, "Mother and Father will be very proud of our work! We will be payed much!" (5)
I grimaced, remembering that we had to return home to the dirty slum of which we lived in. (3) We were cramped with 11 other families in that small apartment, because we could not afford anywhere else.
We had come to America from England, in hopes to make our lives better. After all, it was called 'The Land of Opportunity'! But it turns out it wasn't. We were trapped in the tenement housing, underpaid and suffering from malnutrition, along with disease and nasty vermin.
I was jerked out of my loathing thoughts, as the bell dismissing us for lunch sounded.
"Lilium! (2)" Vivika said excitedly to me. "It's over! I am so ready for a break!" (4)
"Yes. I am too." I say, slightly exhausted.
Suddenly, behind us, a girl named Gwendolyn (2) screamed in fright to our overseer, the man who watched over our working.
"Sir! Sir!" She called. "There is a fire! A fire in the trash bin!"
I sniffed the air, suddenly smelling the bitter aroma of smoke.
"Fire! Fire!" The overseer screamed, rushing to grab a fire-bucket. (6) I watched as he grabbed one, and turn and ran towards the fire. But it was not so, for he was too late.
The fire had spread to the curtains, which had then spread it to the clothes and other flammable materials. As the water fell upon the ever growing fire, it only seemed to cause it to grow bigger.
The foreman dropped the bucket, running toward the fire hose connected to the wall. He turned the handle, waiting for water to come spurting out the nozzle. He hit it and slammed it against the ground, calling it names. No water was coming.
I turned to Vivika, squeezing her hand. "Come! Come, we must hurry!"
We ran towards the main exit of the room, which led to the main stairs, which in turn led to the exit. We ran by many screaming young girls and women, all of which were heading in our same direction.
I was stabbed with a knife made of pure fear as I saw the exit. The place where we exited and entered this vile room, was specifically built to only allow one woman at a time through, so a man could go through our belongings and make sure we hadn't stole any of the fabric.
Too many women had gathered here already to escape, that it was fruitless to even try to get through here.
I pulled Vivika out to the side, towards the one and only elevator.
By now, Vivika's eyes were brimming with tears.
"Don't cry, Vivika." I try and console her with labored breathing. "Don't cry. We're going to make it out, don't worry."
Behind me, I heard a scream that was instantly cut off. I whipped around to see my friend, Ilse (2), on the ground being trampled by the herd of terrified women.
"Go. Hurry to the elevator!" I said to my little sister.
"But... Lilium!" She sobbed. "I fear for you! For us, please! Come with me!"
"Listen, I must get Ilse, then I will come quickly to you. Now go." I say, pushing her forward. I watched her run off toward the elevator, then turned and made my way towards Ilse, pushing my way through the mass of women.
When I reached her I screamed and pushed away the women who were still trampling her, allowing her to stand. Her nose was bloody and she had a cut above her left eye, but other than that she seemed fit to run.
I grabbed her then pulled her back the way I'd come.
About halfway to the elevator, a mass of women came running towards us.
"What are they doing!? Why are they running away from the elevator!?" Ilse said, tugging on my arm.
A man, who was running by, overheard her and quickly spat out, "The bastard on the elevator took one load of women, then closed the doors, yelling that this was the last ride down."
I looked at the man in fright. "Did... Did a young girl get on that last ride!? About 14? Short for her age and blonde?"
"I've no idea." The man said ruefully. "I was in too much fear of my life to pay much attention... But I slightly recall her being the last one on. She was screaming for her sister... Lily was it?"
Before I had a chance to answer, he shoved me out of his path.
I watched as he ran away, towards the main exit.
I felt a tug on my arm as Ilse pulled us back the way we'd come.
We ran past the working area and past the crowd of women clustered by the main exit. If anything, it had gotten larger.
By now, the air was thick with smoke, causing me to retch and cough, but still, Ilse pulled me on. She was always the strong one.
We made it to one of the two fire escape doors, where about 12 women were banging on the door.
"Why is the door not open!?" Ilse screamed at the girls.
"It's locked!" (7) one of them screamed back, laughing hysterically. "It's locked! Ha! Ha! Locked!"
An older woman, about 25, smacked her. "Stop! This is no laughing matter!" She had an Irish accent.
The other girl merely rubbed her face and laughed harder.
"What about the other fire escape?!" I called out, exasperated by all of our failed attempts.
The laughing girl choked out between giggles, "ha! I was just there! Cynthia and a man, I... Ha! Didn't know his name, were on it. I had my foot on it... Ha!... About to climb out when it gave a shudder. Ha! Then collapsed. They fell to their deaths screaming." She choked in air then rolled on the ground.
The ragged group of women stared at each other solemnly.
"There's... There's no other way out..." Said the 25 year old. "There's no other way..." She whipped her head up at the sound if sirens coming through the open windows.
"The firemen are here!" I screamed, feeling my stomach flip over in happiness.
Me and Ilse ran to the laughing girl, lifting her up and taking her back towards the windows.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the many girls gathered around the main exit. The fire was licking at the ones in the back, who quickly turned away and ran toward us and the windows.
I clutched my mouth in horror as one was not quick enough. She had thick, brown and grey hair and was elderly... Probably in her mid 40's. Her dress was erupting in flames and she ran around screaming in pain.
I turned my head so I wouldn't watch, but I could do nothing to muffle the screams.
Me and Ilse lay down the laughing girl, and climb on a windowsill. Far below us, I saw a trickling line of women running out the doors. But it was so few, I wondered how many were still inside.
The wind whipped hair that had strayed from my bun around my face. I felt drops of water every now and then as the firemen shot water up at us. I looked down and saw a ladder, about 3 stories below our window.
The realization hit me. Hit me hard, like a blow to the stomach. Why must every escape, every exit, every chance at life be just out of reach?
I clutched my ears in pain as a loud eruption sounded. I whipped around to see part of the ceiling collapse over the main exit, crushing the girls with debris.
Random items fell through, including tables and sewing machines and to my horror, mangled and burning bodies.
I dug my nails into the side of the windowsill, and forced my eyes away.
For what seemed like hours, me and Ilse sat in that windowsill, holding hands, awaiting for help, but none ever came. We were stuck.
I felt flames lick my backside, and saw that the flames were right behind me. If nothing happened soon, we will burn.
Two windows to the left of us, a girl jumped out, followed by many others. I raise my eyes up to the blackening sky, refusing to watch them smash into the street below.
I feel Ilse squeeze my hand, and I look at her to see tears running down her blackened face.
Then I realize what we must do. I hug Ilse, pulling her tightly to me. I feel her arms pushing me against her, and feel her rock up and down with sobs. I hoped Viveka was that girl on the elevator screaming for her sister, I hoped she lived and had a long, happy life.
I feel my body wrack with sobs, as I prepare myself as best I can.
I squeeze Ilse one more time...
and then we jump.
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1. I don't really know how many they made on average a day. XD I took a wild stab at it.
2. Every name with a 2 beside it, (Viveka, Cynthia, Gwendolyn, Lilium, Ilse) I take no credit for. They are all (except Cynthia) from Ajax. I got all my ideas of names from him :3
3. The major cities of America at the time were absolutely terrible. The immigrants were payed so little, that they couldn't afford apartments. 12 families lived in one apartment so that they could be able to pay for it.
4. The women there worked 9 hours a day and got 1, thirty minute lunch break, where they were fed a small apple pie. They worked 7 hours on Saturdays.
5. The women working at the Triagnle Shirtwaist Factory were payed about 7-12 dollars a week.
6. During this time, they didn't have fire extinguishers. They kept about 3 buckets of water on each floor to put out fires. They were called "fire buckets".
7. Literally everything that went wrong in my story, went wrong in the true incident. The fire buckets didn't put out the fire, the elevator took only one trip, the main exit only allowed one woman at a time through. The 10th floor really did explode. One fire escape did collapse, and the other one was locked. It was locked by the overseers from the outside, so that no women would take a sneak break. And the fire hose kept there didnt work at the time either. The tallest ladder in New York City didn't reach all the way up to the top 3 or 4 floors. The women had literally no way to escape... Other than to jump to their deaths. 62 girls jumped, and splattered onto the concrete below in a mangled heap. They were merely covered with tarps.
God and atheism and loose rocks.
I hopped the rail and sat against the dirt wall below the highway. The face of a mountain stared at me from across a small valley. It was high and snow-capped. I took off my sweatshirt and faced it. The sun hit my face and ran through it like chemicals. Down in the valley a thin stream ran beneath the tall trees and loose rocks, which tumbled down the sides like tears. I sat there and stared at all of it. My face and arms were hot with blood. I was back with life. Birds would land and take off again from the limbs down there. I sunk my hand into the warm dirt and let it fall through my fingers. I missed the road, the dangerousness of no routine. I sat back and thought about everything. I wondered what Helena was doing, and if I still crossed her mind. I wondered if my mother could see me from where she was, and I wondered what she thought of me. I wondered if there were mountains in Heaven. I knew there had to be a Heaven because she was dead and I couldn’t stand the thought of her rotting in a coffin with nothing else for her. I wanted a Heaven to exist for her. For me it didn’t matter. I believed in no afterlife, and I believed that man may never know how the first form of life began, but that was where the beauty of life came from, from that mystery. The biblical God to me was a joke, the words were a joke, but I considered God to be everything that I knew nothing about, a feeling, the source of love I felt concerning good and evil. To have told her that God to me was another word for the unknown would have broken her heart, so I watched the bright leaves and let them rest onto the idea of her up high, to shine beneath her soul. I sat there and remembered her, then my thoughts trailed back to the warm air, and how much time I’d spent away from it. A cloud passed and blocked the sun. I stood up and put my sweatshirt on.