Tuesday, 17 March 2009

this is some text i wrote to go with a final image for a college project...

not too far from the city existed a silent slum who offered itself as a place of refuge to the families of the men who worked the factories down below. the shacks sat high up above the skyline, watching over everything just as a parent watches over a child. the face he wore was no more than a reflection of his inhabiters; unhealthy and disheartened. its content would have been as dead as its smile had it not been for the success of its only remaining business - cigarette production. Having just recently secured some major contract with some fat cats in a near by town, their future seemed set secure; be it immediate or long term, no one knew nor cared. little did they know however, that their blessed low source income would eventually define irony, casting long, deadly shadows over them from now until when?
days turned into months, and months turned into years. the town saw many changes in this time. one of the more major changes was seeing the fat cats plan to revamp and relaunch their company put into action. no longer was there just the one factory churning out an endless supply of white sticks; there were two, and with this new investment, came strange activity, skyward.
another year or so passed...
time seemed tired these days, passing the slums by as slow as it could, losing confidence with each day. profit had begun to take its toll on the town too. a depression was on the horizon, waiting tentatively for the perfect moment to pounce. the shadows had doubled in length and the rain was bright green, but the people were so wrapped up in their new way of life that this absurd scene, which existed permanently all around them, had gone unnoticed.
in time, buildings had began to fade, the environment was now a browny colour, tinted grey - rife with weeds, and the wildlife ceased to exist on the same scale in which it did not five years earlier. things were dying, slowly, slowly, slowly, but sure as anything, they were dying. it could be seen everywhere; the lack of life. as far as the family home was concerned, plates lay bare, conversations forced on special occasions, and the sound of children laughing nothing but a distant memory. money couldn't buy what these people lacked, and no amount would ever see them straight.

"mo' money, mo' problems" - Christopher Wallace, 1997.

il probs post the image later on..

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