The walls between our units were paper thin; next door the thump of heavy-duty machines heralded the birth of belts and handbags, whilst in our workplace makeshift power connections flickered, sparking above production lines foaming with tawdry silk underwear.
It was a living.
Today, above the smog that wreathes the island, fat-cats cruise in silver birds across a cerulean arc. Hundreds of anguished souls drift between high-rise buildings, watching the Star ferries butt relentlessly across greasy, grey waters with their human cargoes.
The walls between our units were paper thin; when the fire started we never stood a chance.
I really did intend to write something new for this week’s prompt, but when I looked back, I recalled that this was a particular favourite of mine. It reminded me of a time when my husband and I visited the island as a precursor to a possible secondment there. I hated it – the smog, the noisy chaos, the traffic, the overcrowding. A dark moment – but fate intervened and a change of policy resulted in our relocating instead to Johannesburg, South Africa. A tad more dangerous, but infinitely more beautiful. 🙂 Thank you to Rochelle, the illustrious leader of the Friday Fictioneers for hosting this weekly get together.