Sasha Lyubashevsky

The year was 2015. It was a cool spring day, a lush breeze coming from the northeast, but I didn't know it-- I was hunched over boxes at the Amazon warehouse. Every joint and muscle screamed in agony as I sweat and toiled through my grueling 35-hour shift, Great Leader Bezos barking over the loudspeakers. It had been months since I'd last seen my family. With every beep of my scanner, I imagined my daughter's laugh. Every day the memory grew fainter. Though I was only 42, my short time at the warehouse aged my body into the 80s, so I knew my working days were running out. One day, after lifting a 75 pound box, I heard a loud crack. I fell to the ground and screamed in agony, clutching my tender back, my spine shattered in pieces. I heard footsteps. I looked up and there he was: Jeff Bezos. "Get back to work, scum," he ordered, kicking me in the head. I couldn't. I knew I had to get out. Using the last of my strength, I ripped open the box. Hundreds of copies of Chicken Run spilled out, so I grabbed a handful and threw it in his face, then army-crawled out to freedom. I watched the movie at home and it was pretty good. 9/10