(So I completely missed that this was supposed to be a poem…🤷‍♀️)

The crisp air nipped at my skin. Frost biting my exposed nose and fingertips. The wind whistled and rumbled in my ear, blowing hard against my hoodie. The chill in the air felt like a breath mint in my sinuses. It was unusually cold for May, the remnants of winter holding on. The sun hid behind a sky full of gray, refusing to shine down on my shitty little town. Anderville, a little cesspit in the middle of Pennsylvania. Gray and brown, all the color and creativity was sucked out and spat back out.

I kicked at a rock as I walked. My black chunky boots sending mud flying. The air still held on to that earthly scent after a rain. A gritty metallic taste sat on my tongue, like a old penny.

I readjusted my backpack, the heavy weathered leather bag pressed down on my shoulders. Full of the only things that truly mattered to me, an old iPod, battered notebook, and book upon threadbare book. I guess food hadn’t been that important to my frazzled brain when I packed it late last night.

I stopped, my boots teetered on a rusty set of train tracks.

The old half burnt steel foundry stood in front of me. The western side a black charred skin, a shadow of olds flames licking at the walls. The doors and windows were boarded up, plywood barely containing the stink of rot and mold.

I ripped off a piece of crumbling wood, and crawled through the old metal framed window.

The foundry was a dilapidated maze of rusty metal, rotten wood and still water. God knows what lurked in the dark pitfalls and collapsed basements. Animals, tweakers, murderers probably. Gang tags covered the walls near the entrance. Pink, blue, yellow, all mixed against the black mold stained walls. Various liquids covered the ground in misshapen puddles, some rusty red, some more like pitch.

I climbed higher, up the rickety steps and catwalks. My hands held onto the rails untrusting.

Finally I breached through to the fifth floor. The only floor with four solid walls and no holes in the ceiling. I sighed, my breath heavy and a stitch digging into my side. I let my backpack slide from my shoulder, it hit the old wood floor with a bang. I walked over the the big bay window, surprisingly it was the most whole. It’s clouded textured glass fogged up the view of Andervile. Making it look even more dystopian.

I sighed again, my form slouching. The cops were probably already searching for me. I could almost hear my mom’s shrill voice, begging them to find me, again. But no one goes out to the old foundry anymore.

For good reason.