#STOP THE FUNERAL! ⚰���

[tideswept]

Written for @veloursdor, one evil-doll-exposure-therapy-by-way-of-Obikin-nonsense coming up!

thy fearful symmetry

(2k words: spooky Obikin AU. Dolls, childhood, loneliness, and forgotten memories that never leave.)

👻🕯🎃🕸🦇⛓🖤🕷🥀🪦🐈‍⬛💀🌙⚰🍁🕸️

The doll.

Christ, the doll. 

Obi-Wan froze with his foot on the first step of the staircase, staring unseeingly at the second landing. He had only just come back from burying his father and speaking with the solicitor.

Obi-Wan’s chest rose in a shuddering breath. The house, and everything inside of it, belonged to him.

Which included the doll.

Anakin.

Nausea rose up his throat like a high tide. Obi-Wan retreated. Up the stairs was Qui-Gon’s study, the place that he hadn’t been allowed to enter, not after the incident that had started it all. 

Fuck. How had he forgotten? He supposed that it shouldn’t matter, not anymore. Qui-Gon was gone. There was to be no heartfelt reconciliation between father and son. No probing questions about had truly gone on between Qui-Gon and Tahl, no explanations. With Tahl also gone, it was only him left.

The liquor cabinet was unlocked. If it hadn’t been, Obi-Wan would have taken a hammer and cracked the glass. He was in no mood to be sober. He tossed the keys onto the dusty dining room table—there was dust everywhere, implying Qui-Gon’s habit of locking himself up in his office hadn’t changed—and grabbed a bottle of rum.

Prize in hand, he settled on the steps of the backporch. The shrill mating call of grasshoppers seeped through his brain, another reminder that he was back in Stewjon, even more so than the copse of trees facing the property. Somewhere, out there, were all his old hiding spots—where he’d go to escape the arguments, the cold silences. 

Better the hush of the uncaring forest than the emptiness of his foster parent’s dissolving marriage. 

The first sip of rum burned. So did the second.

Obi-Wan tipped his head back, the bottle pressed to his lips like a clarion, and swallowed all the fire and bitterness that he could take until he was nothing but ashes, bombed out and numb. 

He hung his head forward, shoulders slumped. Receiving the news—Cody’s apologetic expression, right on the heels of what should have been a victory for them, a major contract signed that meant they were now playing in the big leagues—the plane ride, the other papers signed. The calls and texts from friends to extend their condolences, well-meant, but like being punched with a screwdriver each time his phone rang. Putting on the mask of the famed Negotiator to reassure them that he was doing as well as could be expected, that his father had been in his seventies, a heart attack was shocking but not that much of a shock—

He took another drag of the rum. His fingers twitched restlessly. So did his mouth, craving a cigarette. He should have stopped by the convenience store. But the funeral arrangements. The ceremony. The solicitor. All of it in a whirlwind of two days. 

And the fucking doll was the first thing that popped into his head the moment that he was alone. Figured.

Anakin. A name he hadn’t allowed himself to think of in forever. Referring to it as the doll had been easier, and then it’d been easier still to sweep up those memories into a dark corner of his mind. Banished along with the rest of his childish fears, to be suppressed in favor of bigger, more important worries. Getting into a good school. Getting along with his roommate. Getting laid. Getting a job. Getting out of Stewjon. 

Not necessarily in that order.

Two hours later, he was still sitting there. Above him the sky was an endless expanse of dark, clouds shrouding the moon and the stars that still glittered like gems, undisturbed by light pollution. Obi-Wan had cycled through grief, anger, and exhaustion until his eyes ached, eyelids drooped, and his stomach was an empty pit. 

He felt like he stood on the set of a play. If he got to his feet and walked over to the trees, he’d discover them to be two-dimensional, made up of plywood, painted with care to trick the eye. That if he pushed through, he’d wind up backstage, where he’d find…

Obi-Wan blinked, startled. He jerked as if yanked out of a deep sleep. 

“Fuck,” he swore softly. The rum bottle was empty. His grieving suit was hopelessly rumpled. 

Time to call an end to this day from hell. 

He rose to his feet, overly cautious, and felt his way into the house, turning on the lights and then leaving them on as he traveled. Climbing the stairs in his condition was a fool’s gamble, his center of balance was definitely skewed to the left, and if the floor didn’t stop lurching underneath his feet like a capsizing ship, Obi-Wan would throw up. 

Eventually, it did stop. Mostly because he collapsed on the sofa. 

Displaced dust fluttered in the air. Obi-Wan turned his head and coughed. “Jesus, dad.” When was the last time Qui-Gon had been in the living room? Who lived like this? 

A crazy man, whispered an insidious little voice. 

No. He wasn’t going there. Tomorrow, fine, whatever. He could deal with that tomorrow. 

He could deal with Anakin tomorrow.

—

“Want to play?”

Obi-Wan plucked at the hem of his shorts and then looked up, surprised. There was a young man blocking out the sun. Obi-Wan didn’t know him.

But then, Obi-Wan didn’t know anyone. This was his third foster family in as many months. 

He pressed his lips together, doubtful. People were sometimes nice to him, only to then be mean. Best if he kept his distance. Even if this wasn’t a trap, what was the point in talking to someone he’d never see again?

A minute passed. Obi-Wan plucked at his shorts again. They were too big for him. His new foster mom had bought them thinking he was the normal size for a five-year-old boy, but he wasn’t. He was scrawny and gaunt. Food had been scarce at the last house, that was why they’d taken him away. 

“Cat got your tongue?”

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose and, unbidden, blurted out: “Cats don’t eat tongues. Cats are nice.” 

Then he cringed. Crap. 

“Cats are nice,” agreed the young man, and knelt down on the grass. His eyes were a deep blue, darker than Obi-Wan’s own. Even kneeling, and with Obi-Wan sitting at the bottom of the back steps, he was slightly taller. He offered his hand the way adults did. “Would you like to see some kittens?” 

Obi-Wan was suspicious. He didn’t shake the hand. Instead, he crossed his arms, tucking his arms under his armpits. “No.” 

“Are you sure?” came the playful rejoinder. “They’re very cute.” 

Obi-Wan firmed up his chin. There weren’t any kittens. This was a lie. A trick. “No, thank you.” 

His strange visitor… pouted. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how to react to that. “Um,” he said, a little breathlessly, because oh, no, was the young man actually sad? He was wiping at his eyes like there were tears there, and Obi-Wan’s sense of compassion—and guilt—was immediate and all-consuming. 

“I’m sorry! I—I do want to see the kittens. B-but I don’t know you. I should stay here.” Within sight of the back door, like Tahl had told him.

“Oh, is that all? But I live here, too.”

“Um. Do you?”

“Oh, yes. For a…” The young man stopped. A line formed on his brow. “You know, I don’t remember how long I’ve been here. Isn’t that funny?” he shrugged, as if it wasn’t really that important. “I’m Anakin.” 

“I’m… Obi-Wan.” 

The smile Anakin gave him was sweet, mischievous. “Well, we won’t go anywhere, if you’re not comfortable,” he announced. “But that means we’re not strangers anymore, right?”

There was a certain logic to that, Obi-Wan supposed. But when he opened his mouth to agree, the door behind him creaked open on its hinges. 

“Obi-Wan? Are you hungry? I’ve made snacks,” Tahl said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Obi-Wan automatically said, and then turned back to Anakin. If he really lived there, shouldn’t Tahl have made snacks for him as well? 

But Anakin was gone.

— 

He’d sell the doll, Obi-Wan decided the next day, after the hangover had stopped pounding nails into his skull. As much as he wanted to throw it in the bin, he couldn’t. It’d meant so much to Qui-Gon, and it had historical value and… 

Why destroy something out of pettiness? He was a better man than that. For God’s sake, he wasn’t a kid anymore. There was enough gray in his hair that he was considering dyeing it, but then he’d questioned himself why he’d bother. 

The rest of the house would also have to go. Donated. Or whatever. There were probably museums that would salivate at the chance to go through Qui-Gon Jinn’s collection. The man had been both well-respected and infamous in certain circles, loved and hated—if not hated, by the end. Surely if he reached out, they’d send someone to evaluate what was worth preserving… they could have all of it, really. Obi-Wan didn’t care.

But before that could be set into motion, he needed to go into Qui-Gon’s study. 

He left the house to pick up something to eat, and came back with caffeine. He’d need it. 

Unlike the rest of the house, the upstairs hallway was clean. Obi-Wan placed his hand on the doorknob to Qui-Gon’s study and cast a worried glance around, reduced to being nine years old again, and sneaking into his then-father’s study. 

Sneaking in to see… to see Anakin.

Obi-Wan exhaled sharply through his nose. The doll. Sneaking in to see the doll. Anakin had never existed. Anakin was the product of a young child’s overactive mind. He’d overheard Qui-Gon at some point talking about the doll, and then his mind had filled in the gaps.

That was all. Logical. 

And yet. He couldn’t turn the knob. Not out of fear that Qui-Gon was around the corner and would find out, but out of a strange swirl of anticipation in his gut. The doll was his now.

(Anakin was his now.)

Obi-Wan opened the door. 

—

“Why is Qui-Gon so mad?” Obi-Wan’s voice trembled, along with his lips, his hands. Even his breath squeezed in his lungs. He didn’t want Qui-Gon to be angry. Qui-Gon was the best foster dad he’d ever had; he always had something to teach Obi-Wan, some curious stone or feather to show him. He never sighed and rolled his eyes at any of Obi-Wan’s questions, no matter how dumb. 

Fear sat like a block of ice in his chest. “I d-don’t get it.” To his despair, tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. Obi-Wan scrunched them shut, but they rolled down his cheeks. 

Anakin was quiet. Then his hand brushed the top of Obi-Wan’s head. “I don’t know,” he confessed, and he sounded young even to Obi-Wan. “I don’t think he’s mad at you. If anyone—” Anakin broke off. “He’s probably angry with me.” 

With Anakin? 

The fear melted with the heat of indignation. He scrambled off the bed. “He can’t make you go away.” Obi-Wan wouldn’t let him send Anakin away, he’d—he’d tell Tahl, even though she was just as weird about Anakin. He’d—

“No,” said Anakin, with a strange, resigned expression. He was usually lively, if moody, and Obi-Wan didn’t like the change. “No, he can’t. So don’t worry about it, alright? Cry if you need to, and then let’s go visit the Open Circle.” 

“Boys don’t cry.” Obi-Wan sniffed. 

Anakin’s smile was lopsided. “I cry all the time. And I’m just as much a boy as you.” 

This was not the revelation Obi-Wan expected. First, Qui-Gon angry with Anakin, now Anakin, somewhere, crying? Where Obi-Wan couldn’t see? 

“You can’t cry anymore,” Obi-Wan told him. What he really meant to say was you can’t cry if I’m not with you, but his young mind couldn’t translate his thoughts into words without losing something along the way. 

But Anakin understood. 

Anakin always understood him. 

—

Obi-Wan flipped the light switch. And there, under a large glass cloche on Qui-Gon’s desk, was the doll that his father had destroyed his life for. 

God, how he hated it. 

— 

(Anakin could never leave him alone again.) 

[silly-ez]

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I can't read.

[lawrencedienerthings]

Workers protest $15,615 federal fine for JBS meatpacking plant in Greeley where coronavirus killed six

#thejbs💯 📉 👷‍♀️ ⚰

more news https://northdenvernews.com

By Pattie Nieberg, The Associated Press/Report for America

A union representing workers at a Colorado meatpacking plant where six workers died of COVID-19 and hundreds more were infected staged a protest Wednesday, claiming that federal officials should have fined the company more for its alleged failure to provide safe working conditions.

The JBS USA-owned plant in Greeley was issued a $15,615 fine on Sept. 11 by the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, or OSHA.

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The United Food and Commercial Workers Union called the fine for the multi-billion dollar company “insulting” and “ineffectual,” but JBS says it’s unwarranted. The union’s Local 7, which represents about 3,000 workers at the plant, asked co-workers and relatives of those who died and were infected to protest outside OSHA’s Denver offices.

“After seven deaths and seven months they issued a lousy, measly $15,000 fine,” local president Kim Cordova declared to several dozen demonstrators, some holding signs that read “Shame on OSHA” and “Life is cheap for JBS.”

“Fifteen thousand dollars is not going to stop them or force them to be a better and more responsible employer,” Cordova said.

One of the first things Saul Sanchez, who’d worked 30 years at the plant, did when he was diagnosed with the coronavirus in March was to let his supervisor know he’d miss work, daughter Beatriz Rangel told protesters.

“My dad’s biggest concern was calling JBS,” she said. “My dad had more concern for his co-workers and the employees of JBS than JBS did themselves.”

RELATED: A Salvadoran immigrant worked at a Fort Morgan slaughterhouse for 24 years. Coronavirus killed him in 10 days.

Sanchez, 78, died of COVID in April. Another daughter, Patty Rangel, an ICU nurse, said Wednesday she was present when personnel turned off his ventilator.

Fifteen thousand dollars “doesn’t even cover one funeral,” said Rosario Hernandez, the wife of Alfredo Hernandez, a janitor at the plant who was sickened by the virus and still uses a breathing machine.

OSHA said JBS Foods Inc. in Greeley — operating as Swift Beef Co. — failed to protect workers from exposure to the coronavirus. The fine followed a plant inspection in May and is the maximum allowed by law, OSHA said.

JBS failed to protect workers from getting sick and didn’t adequately compensate them for working under the risk of contracting the virus, the union said in a statement. At least 290 workers at the plant tested positive for COVID-19, the Colorado health department has said. One corporate supervisor at the facility also died.

In a statement Wednesday, JBS USA said the fine “is entirely without merit” and ”attempts to impose a standard that did not exist in March as we fought the pandemic with no guidance.”

JBS said protective measures at the plant follow, if not exceed, guidelines for safety and social distancing issued by OSHA and the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and had been approved by local and state health authorities.

Those measures include 24-hour cleaning at the plant, random testing of employees, screening employees before work, staggered shifts and breaks, physical barriers between workstations and other measures, Cameron Bruett, head of corporate affairs, said in the statement. He said there have been no positive cases in Greeley in nearly seven weeks.

Bruett added the company had provided a year’s pay to survivors of those who died. It raised wages and granted bonuses to its workers during the pandemic, he said.

In a similar case, OSHA fined Smithfield Packaged Meats Corp. in Sioux Falls, South Dakota $13,494. At least 1,294 workers at that plant contracted the virus, and four employees died in the spring, officials had said.

The UFCW represents more than 1.3 million workers in retail food, food processing, agriculture, retail sales, and health care.

Sanchez was the Greeley facility’s first known COVID-19 death, on April 7. JBS temporarily shuttered its Greeley operations on April 13 to deep-clean the plant, install a new ventilation system and physical barriers on production lines and enhance social distancing protocols, according to a company statement. The location reopened on April 24.

JBS USA is a subsidiary of Brazil-based JBS S.A., one of the world’s largest meat processors. It also holds a majority interest in Pilgrim’s Pride, the United States’ second largest poultry company.

For most people, the coronavirus causes mild or moderate symptoms, such as fever and cough that clear up in two to three weeks. For some, especially older adults and people with existing health problems, it can cause more severe illness, including pneumonia, and death.

Nieberg is a corps member for the Associated Press/Report for America Statehouse News Initiative. Report for America is a nonprofit national service program that places journalists in local newsrooms to report on undercovered issues.

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