Sunday, September 23

Masters' Control

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You're raised on a farm, frolicking with your friends and family. Years pass filled with great food, quiet... pastoral bliss.

Until one morning... herded... crammed into a dank loud truck... all dark... terror. Jammed up ramps. Bleating, screaming... Panic... Along some sort of corridor, past this place, inside people.. Not farmers. Cold eyes. Not there with food and warmth. You're somewhere that's all turmoil and clatter. A chugging. Air blasts. Bells clanging. So loud. So ghastly... Where is this place? What is it? Home... want to go home...


It's still now. Crumbling. The remains of a great shed that covered the sorting area for new arrivals. Off to pens according to type, class, destination. Slaughter... somewhere. But not here. No, here was a station beside the railhead that loaded the trains off to the great city centers. Here was an in between place of what? Can you imagine what went through their minds?

Rocco and I walked through the stockyard ruins, and he sensed what I couldn't hear, smell, or see. My little friend was not happy. There's something inside this place... Silent echoes. You are on edge here.

Does it show?


Bill said...

Whoa. almost makes me want to become a vegetarian, almost. Great treatment. Hope you didn't cut yourself on that wedge of a building.

pnfphotography said...

Very dramatic and your words match often times I do wonder what goes through their heads!!!