Tales of the Spaniard
ABOUT ME

A Spaniard with an American passport figuring out life what life is all about in Boston
AT THE MOMENT

Book:
"Complete Fairy Tales" George Macdonald
Hobby:
Taking naps
Song:
"Bands with Managers" Pedro the Lion
Mood:
content
MORE ME

Email me
My Amazon Wish List
WEB SITES

Sluggy Freelance
Goateestyle
College Roomies from Hell
Guitar Tabs
My College
Postmodern Religion
The cult of Mac
BLOGS

Kenny's Blog (spanish)
Deep thoughts of Daniel
The brilliant mind of Chris
Jen's Blog of life
Charles' Rants
Janna's blog of death
Eva's ruminations
Mary Margarine
A Crazy Sevillian
The master of the beatbox
ARCHIVES
CREDITS
design (c) maystar designs
powered by blogger
image (c) maystar designs
The factory 
Friday, November 05, 2004

They passed it slowly as they went by on the ferry. They were on the deck, looking towards the shore. He was leaning up against the railing when he noticed it, an old factory built in the forties, now wasting away. The boat slowed as it neared the shore, giving him more time to look at the old building, an old hulk of concrete and rust, sitting quietly as time rolled over it. The walls were made of brick, which had been painted red at one point, but the paint had faded and chipped away, remaining only in clumps. Pipes of all sizes protruded from the old factory. Most of them were red and oxidized, but underneath certain parts gleamed shining reminders of the metal it once was. An old brick chimney stack rose from the roof. The end of it was blackened from smoke long gone.
As the ferry floated past the old building, she could not help but ask him what he was staring at.
"That old factory" he said, smiling sadly to himself as he said it. She turned and looked at it.
"What about it?"
He bit his lip. He always did that when he was thinking. "I dunno. Its pretty I guess."
Surprised, she turned back towards the factory and squinted. "Pretty?"
"Yeah."
"I dont see what is pretty about it." She said, while her eyes scanned the old cracked walls. "I suppose it has some sort of appeal... but I wouldn't call it pretty"
He was smiling broadly now. "Its pretty."
They stood there in silence, leaning against the railing, as they watched the sunlight play off the surface of the water. The factory's reflection was broken into pieces by the waves created by the ferry as it cruised slowly past it. She watched it as they left behind them.
She looked at him, he was staring into space, looking very calm. "Was it really that pretty?"
"It was beautiful"

posted at

Comments: Post a Comment