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by Brittany Melosh, staff reporter

Drawing by Brittany Melosh
Drawing by Brittany Melosh


It’s like a sea

a sea of us

trapped underground, deprived of light

deprived of air

forced to use what little skills we have

to please the man.

There’s no day or night here,

only work,

work and reward.

We are rewarded well

with the things we love,

yet danger prevails.

Every day

every single day

we are faced with the machines

the inventions

the weapons

the perilous reminder that at any time,

we could cease to be.

We watch in horror as our brothers are whisked away into the sky,


and turned into monsters.

There is no mercy,

though he makes it seem so.

Though he acts like we’ve chosen this fate,

we are only his minions,

forced to lead a life of trepidation and labor,

forced to look forward to such miniscule rewards.

Such a long era it has been!

So long,

we have been compelled to create our own inane dialect.

So foolish it is,

our simple language.

It’s laughable.

The little masters, they laugh at us.

They make fun of our pain,

the ignorant young fools.

Yet, we are bound to our master,

and therefore forced to smile at them

and wait on their every whim.

The one we look forward to every day

is the old one,

the one who organizes our work

and keeps us safe.

Though he makes mistakes constantly

and accidentally harms us,

he means well.

Through all the inventions,


and work, we are thanked.

Our master Gru keeps us under his house

and though he puts us

through so much,

we can’t argue that

what one may call a despicable factory of labor

is home to us.

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