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smoke coats my lungs as i push through the dense grey mass, an arm over my mouth. inspiration for my next painting was running extremely dry; i knew i had to delve further than the sunlit comfort of nature and into the choking fog of industrialisation. the serrated soles of my leather boots leave imprints in the chalky gravel and the vintage camera around my neck swings with my every stride.
the abandoned train station lurches and groans around me and as far as i can tell, i'm the only one here. i mean, it's not like anyone would jump at the chance to spend a pleasant afternoon surrounded by rusting steam trains and freight cars, right?
as for the smoke, it seems that someone was running one of the old steam trains on the other tracks, hidden by a dust-covered platform. still, the putrid fog was carried over by the wind and i wince, blinking away the tears of irritation. i journey further on down the tracks in deep thought, studying the colours around me and already beginning to envision a new masterpiece.
i kneel in the stones, holding the hunk of metal to my eyes. yes, this was a perfect shot. however, the moment my finger lifts off the button, i hear a voice shouting.
"hey! excuse me! you're not supposed to be here!"
shit. i look down at my knees and sigh at the grey powder clinging to the fabric, wiping it away the best i could with the sleeve of my cream coat. the owner of the voice, a sprightly boy with ruffled cedar hair that bounces as he runs, waves frantically in an attempt to garner my attention although i was already looking his way.
he was younger than i thought, layered against the wind in a comfortable lilac hoodie and a denim jacket over it. a black mask hung off of one ear and i knew he had taken it off in a hurry.
"sir, you're gonna have to leave," he says sheepishly, fiddling with the aforementioned mask.
"i was already on my way out. sorry for trespassing." the kid seems oblivious to my cold tone and walks with me in the direction of the town.
"nah it's fine! my uncle and i are working over there," he points vaguely at the stream of smoke. "and he needed me to get something. how do you know about this place?"
his voice remains chirpy but i could sense provocation within each vowel.
"i found it on google." he hums, not fully convinced. as we talk the smoke starts to curl its tendrils around our ankles, inching past our stomachs to rest at our throats, tying it's own noose and effectively trapping us in. the boy fixes his mask on his face.
"sorry, i have to go. but i'm sure you know the way out."
"hold on, could you point me in the direction of the arabesques park? the one with the bridge? i'd like to visit it before i fly home tomorrow."
"ahh, you're not from around here? that makes sense i suppose. and you're quite a way away. can i look at your phone?"
a porcelain hand goes into the inner pocket of my coat and brandishes a map.
"i'm quite old-fashioned. is this okay?"
he laughs and nods, opening it up against the side of an aegean train.
