Write an opening. Start with; January was…

 

 

Luna writes;

 

January was thirteen. Much like eight, eleven or even three. No, not three. Better than three. Another month has passed. And innumerable still to come. The work, a repetitive cycle. Once all is complete, the starts again tomorrow. Like a coal ship supplying a factory; when it reaches the dock with a new load, the previous has gone and there is reason to turn straight back. When the end of a task is reached, all is ready for a fresh start. There is a sense of completion in time, but not a job well done. No pride. Not ever pride.
The thoughts are not ordered either. One time there is nothing to think about except getting done what needs to, the other the task is so slow and tedious that thoughts drift in and out. The tasks have gotten easier, but I still don’t know what to expect from them. I wonder how long I am going to stay here.

 

 

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This work by LunaLouise is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.