Elder Buildings

There seems to subsist, around elder factories of the beginning of the prior century, and some even before that, a hallowed and an unspeakable gap between their years of use and their current state of disarray.
No-one knows of when these years could have happened, or when they did. but they must have. These large brick buildings, often with tall smoketowers of a lighter, yellowish brick, were once, in antecedent years, houses of industrialism, places of coal and smoke and sweat and sickness. Now, though, they stand empty, degenerating inside, while the cold brick still stands on the outer side.
(Let us not forget to pay heed to, though, that our own versions of these centers of formulation exist now, though we may be hasty to brush them aside as nothing the same. Painted metal walls and whitewashed interiors, with heavy pipes carrying resources about, and oil-burning furnaces pouring forth smoke of a newer yet equivalent type have replaced the old, and tall rigs scattered about in the ocean have been exchanged in place of the coal mines that were so necessary in the earlier times.)
I say this time and these places are hallowed. Truly, few advances to re-use them have been made, with a type of almost religious awe surrounding them. Aye, there have been, of course, the adolescents who foolishly invade them a night or day at a time, whether seeking a potential respite from the law, or standing mortally transfixed by the certain antiquity that they all hold. The old denizens of the very particles of the structures forgive, for they remember the times when youth younger than they slaved within alongside adults, and feel that they must forgive the progeny for the sake of their progenitors.
But there is a limit, for all. The old spirits that developed by way of the many souls that worked, lived, and died in the buildings truly wish to die with the buildings they exist in, and with, but this is only a minor sentiment among the wish for earlier times, for the taste of mankind struggling to survive to be in their gaping rooms and fallen staircases once more.
Their roots hold deep. They know what goes on in the world, and of their modern equivalents. They feel knowing, yet resentment. They know the wishes and feelings of the modern workhouses, yet they resent them at the same time for their very being of “modern workhouses”, modern being that which is, and is not “was”, as they are.
The years of the gap, after mankind abandoned them, succeeded years when mankind as a whole had begun to grasp the cruel, physical grip that the buildings had accomplished.
The years of knowing have passed, long ago. Man has tried to re-use and re-inhabit the old buildings, but all is not as it once was. Their thirst for blood extends beyond that which mankind will limitedly sate it with. Accidents happen which cause these re-uses of the buildings to fall by the wayside in the greater horror of what happens. They are abandoned once more, and the restlessness and hunger is stronger than before.


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