Dec 8, 2014 – The Factory
Posted on 08 December 2014
The factory stood in the center of a slum, although whether the slum was actually part of the factory or simply one of its many products was up for debate. Likely, it was somewhere in between. Multistory tenements held the squalid and destitute workforce that manned the behemoth structure are their center that every eight hours, on the dot, ebbed and flowed a wash of humanity that blended together by its common traits: dirty faces and defeated eyes.
The building itself soared over the crumbling buildings that surrounded it, taking pains to both make the slums look even more pathetic and small, and at the same time to be a testament to just how little care could be taken to a structure that still stood. Smoke stacks bellowed black clouds out of not just their tops, but from gapping maws along their sides where masonry had given way to heat and grime, and more often than not, the tops of those towers were jagged, seeming to hint at days long forgotten when they touched the sky.
Below the spiky crown of chimneys, the factory was a cobbled together mess of buildings that were once a compound but had grown and bloated until only a single decadent building remained. Through, old walls with the faint lines of once glorious murals could be found, relics of a day when even the common workplaces were meant to be beautiful works of art that inspired. The happy, healthy images were hidden by sooth and worn by acidic rain, or had been knocked down in their entirety to make way for larger and more complex machinery that twisted through a maze of industry.
And just what did the factory produce? Each worker one might coax to speak would give a different answer. Gears, some would say. Barrels would say other. Machined levers, pistons, engines, cogs, flanges, gaskets, furnaces, and rollers. Even the foremen would only know what their specific lines produced, and beyond that, the managers did not care so long as it was being paid for and there were hands enough to produce it. And the dark, truth? The factory produced itself, ever expanding, ever changing, twisting, bloating, inflating, and consuming. It was its beginning and its end, and none could escape its loathsome reach.