The Factory

The sky was a harmonious mixture of velveteen tangerines, sinfully blushed roses, and brooding plums. The smoke coming from the vented factory seemed to suspend in mid air. The single fumes seemed translucent, you could see the artist's palette in them. 

Birds seemed to hang in the balance and serenity of the scene. They flew in groups to and fro, like they were marionetted by inexperienced hands. Back and forth they flew in sequence, making a small loop each time over one of the pillars of smoke. When they flew through the smoke, some would drop off and cascade to the ground. 

The building was a red almost brick. Not much character to it and no windows. It's roof was tin and fair. It stood on the dark end of the rail road tracks. All in all, it was just a factory. 

Just a factory, where screams infiltrate the air, up in the smoke, and hang like water droplets and dirt.