By Abandoned Factory
I go through the hole in the fence where wires are splitting and are covered with vines and leaves. It is the only entrance to the Willow Mills; a factory located at the outskirts of the city that is not sealed. Stepping inside the compound, I can see brown leaves blanketing the lane where once workers strolled and pick-up trucks drove. The trees surrounding the area like naked sticking out its spiky branches as if it were ready to penetrate anything that crossed its way. The leafless trees do not limit my vision and allow me to see further down the horizon.
I approach an abandoned parking lot as I walk through the leaf-covered path. What could have once been a lovely rose garden is now a hostile thorn bush and the swings where children spent moments of joy and innocent childhood are now creaking in the most haunted way. The place that once was overflowing with laughter and joys of workers is now desolate as it is enveloped by broken glass, dried brown leaves, and empty beer bottles from teenagers who come down here to drink. I can see electric poles with wire hanging loose or broken like weeping willow trees. Looking around through the area, I cannot help but ponder that I am indeed in a dead, dreary, and grey urban jungle. The place that was once teeming with life is all empty and bare now.
From this spot, I can witness what the world would look like during an apocalypse. Roofs of five abandoned buildings create an industrial skyline where life is nowhere to be seen. A bulldozer stands near a building that is torn down in half, its roof missing and windows reflecting the light of the setting sun. It seemed as if it were giving a powerful glare; a stare enough to force people back the way they came from.
The area is quiet enough to hear a pin drop. My ears felt numb as only distant car horns, the light blow of wind and the crunching of leaves from my shoes is within my hearing proximity. I take in a deep breath and put the white and grey earphones connected to my phone in my ears; ready to go explore this depressing space.
The sky is a mix of orange and red and is so aesthetic that it may as well be straight out of a painting- which may only be the most positive vibe given by the area. The purple clouds are motionless and ready to fade into the blue that the night sky brings.
As I look through the half-torn, wooden door pitch-black greets me. Pulling the torch out of my backpack, I set foot into the oblivion of obscurity. I truly thought the feeling of inferiority would cease when I entered the building. It is not. Four endless walls and a staircase leading to the cold foggy sky. It is almost as if it were a message, telling me that it is all over but it isn’t real. The dust, cobwebs, and graffiti on the walls and corners bring me back to reality. I am not the only one who feels unwelcomed in this macabre pile of bricks.
The remains of furniture that lies disorderly cluttered on the floor remind me of death, for this once was the home of many happy lives and therefore full of life itself. And not it is all gone, replaced by rats, spiders, and their cobwebs, dirt, dust, fleece, and trash. Heaps and heaps of rubbish. How terribly sad, to be calling what had once been a cozy, comfortable sofa, trash. For it was ripped, dismantled, and stained. Abandoned.
Newspapers dating back to a hundred years ago are covered in dust making it almost impossible to make out their writings. Boxes that read “fragile” where once-perfect pieces of cutleries or souvenirs lie have no answers but only the smell of rot and the sound of creaking. This depicted the touch of a rough surface, the sight of a horror scene, and the taste of negligence towards life.
It is too much for me to bear. As the cold wind rushes past my body resulting in goosebumps to arise everywhere, I flee out of the distorted dwelling and decide that I am never going to step foot into this dismay again.
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