A/N: I’d be happy to! Here you go! 115 words, even — one minute of writing. Feel free to send me requests like these: they’re nice exercises.
STOKE THE FIRE
His first job is heating the vats of lard at the soap factory in the city’s industrial sector. He isn’t good at it, starting off: his hands are too small, the flames they make weak and scarcely warm. The lard doesn’t bubble. The manager drags him out to the loading dock behind the factory and beats him, beats him, beats him until Mako stumbles and falls and spits out a tooth that wasn’t loose to begin with. His lip is cut in three places—the blood from it runs sticky down his chin.
“Again,” says the manager. “See if you’re angry enough now, kid.”
The vat glows like an ember then, redder than the rest.