(Taken with a Praktica BX20 on an Ilford HP5+ film) “Our destiny is frequently met in the very paths we take to avoid it.” – Jean de la Fontaine 1981, somewhere in Europe He came to the window overlooking the factory on the first floor. As every other day, he shaved, ate breakfast with his wife, put on his suit, went to the office, talked to his manager and sorted out whatever business he had for the day. There was not a single little sign in his perfectly ironed suit, in his patiently waxed moustache, or in his neatly combed hair that revealed something was out of the ordinary. He didnt allow it. Yet this well-composed man was slowly falling apart along with his factory. The more he struggled to retain control over his factory, the more he felt it slipping away like sand through fingers. His business was dying, devastated by the majority of the workers leaving and the inability to find new ones. Stories started to spread. Stories about things happening in the factory which he refused to believe. He dared not to. For a moment, everything came together in perfect harmony - the loud rhythmical beating of the machinery, the patter of workers operating a dozen weaving looms and spinning mules, the soft sound of turning pages coming from the office, his manager yelling out orders down below. Yarns were still spinning, which meant everything was as it should be. But the moment was just a fleeting memory of more peaceful times. A sharp scream from one of the workers pierced the air, sending chills down his spine. He rushed down the metal stairs from the first-floor observation hall and upon reaching the main factory floor felt something slippery under his feet. He managed to hold onto the metal fence before plunging headlong to the ground. “What in the name of God...” The floor was completely covered in water and moss. His manager rushed towards him. “Maria slipped on the moss and hurt her knee”, he said, pointing to the sobbing woman being surrounded by her co-workers. “Is she okay?” “She’ll be fine. Which I can’t say for your factory. First the incident with all the machines that stopped working, then the strange voices in other languages, furniture switching places in seconds...and don’t get me started on the mannequins. Did you know we locked them in the storage room one day? But that didn’t stop them from appearing randomly everywhere in the factory. Scares the hell out of your workers. Out of me.” “I know. I know”, he said with a deep sigh. “It’s getting worse, Patrizio. We need to leave this place.” Leaving was the last option, but it *was* getting worse. Even if he chose to stay, there would be no one left to operate the machines. His gaze met Maria’s. An old woman, hurt, scared to death. The decision loomed over him for months now, demanding to be faced, yet he couldn’t do it. Until now. “Then we go. Now. Leave everything behind”. The water and moss were now gone, like they were never there. But they’ll be back. Something was slowly consuming this place, claiming it for its own. Everything they’ve seen – the machines that stopped working and suddenly gathered layers of dust, the flapping of torn curtains, the mannequins and furniture shifting places and now the crumbled up floor covered in water and moss – as if it all were glimpses of the future. As if his factory was a place in which the future found its way through cracks in time. A future in which the factory is forgotten, abandoned, ravaged by decay. They were all waiting for him outside. He came out last, with a box of hurriedly stacked papers and a bottle of whiskey, the last things he would take from the factory. As he closed the big metal gates, he felt a hand on his shoulder: “You’ve made a good decision, Patrizio. We’ll start off again somewhere else.” He nodded, shut the gate and locked them. He never told anyone how, as he stepped for the last time into his office, it looked as if it had not been in use for 30 years. He never told anyone how, in those last moments of going through the factory, he saw shadowy human shapes, slowly walking between the weaving looms, touching the yarns, the clothes, the boxes, leaving footprints in the water that once again started creeping in. He never told anyone how, just before he closed the main gate, he caught a glimpse of one of those shadowy figures staring at him, holding a camera in its hands. 2014, somewhere in Europe “Are you all right?”, I shuddered violently upon hearing these words right behind my back, “you’ve been staring at that spot for the past five minutes”. “I...I...think I saw something, by the big door. Like a...shadow passing by”, I replied, reluctant to turn and face the judging and suspicious eyes of my exploring partner. I did it anyway, prepared for the ensuing distrust. “It’s easy to imagine things at places like this. Your mind can play tricks on you.” “Yeah...but...”, I was not ready to give in. Not just yet. He smiled and rolled his eyes, amused and slightly annoyed: “Just take your photos. And enjoy this place. Look at it! The machines covered in thick dust, the green curtains all torn to pieces, the water and the moss all over the floor... I’m so glad it rained yesterday. And the mannequins! Some other explorer before us already moved one into a good position. Oh, the decay of this place! It’s perfect! I wonder why it was abandoned like this, with everything still intact and all...” “Yeah, I wonder too...”, I said, with the camera in my hands, still looking at the place where I saw the shadow.
Posted on: Thu, 07 Aug 2014 17:42:33 +0000
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