Day 17 Contest
|You know you are getting near to the Riverside Warehouses from the smell.The wind blows upriver from the sea, bringing with it that salty tang you can almost taste. With it comes a whiff of detritus, of stagnant, oil-slicked pools, of rotting wood and rusting metal. You move from a place of light and life to an area of dark and decay.
The disused warehouses, lining the river bank, stand as sentinels of a bygone age. If you close your eyes, you can hear the clopping of hooves, the shouts of the dockers, the twanging of rigging on mast; ghosts of prosperity. Now all you hear is the squawking of seagulls, the cooing of pigeons, flying in and out of dusty, shattered windows.
On the very edge of the river, pointing to the past, the railway line. The rails remind you that this was once a busy branch line, carrying goods to the rail yard and on to distant places. They are now rusted and overgrown. The roadway, threading between the warehouses, is potholed and weeds grow up through the cracks. The only vehicles traversing this long forgotten tarmac are those up to no good, hiding their cargo.
Old gas lamps stand to attention along the route, long since extinguished. There are floodlights mounted on some of the warehouses but most are smashed. Just the odd halo shines on the puddles, reflecting the neglect of over half a century. This is an area even the rats have deserted.