Barbs, Roses, Curtains

ONE

The heavy chains dragged across the floor, fog covering the ground with a slight black tint. Barbed wire hit against the chains, a wall of barbed wire right there too. Long pointy objects moved in the fog, a gigantic sheet of cloth and a block both the color of black behind the work. The object was pointed, and it seemed to be moving. Gears in the background hit each other, making a clockwork sound in the background. An eery ghoul's wail sounded in the distance, apparently coming from a steam engine. The smoke was everywhere, and a lit cigarette had extra coming from it. Everything was moving in this outside area, the barbed wire and chains going across the very soil that was a medium gray color. There seemed to be no sign of life here, just abandoned, heavy, objects that were still moving. To some, big was small and small was big depending on the  distance you'd look at one. Sparks came from the machines as they each started to stop moving, breaking down to the point they did not work anymore. The pitch silence started, no sound at all.

Lime-yellow glowing areas still glowed, especially from the black block connected with chains. The yellow glow blinked out before coming on again, a hand reaching out of the silhouette.

The block turned around, being a large male with a large black scarf, black turtleneck, black gloves, black, ragged cape, his lime-yellow eyes somewhat visible through the holes in his ski mask. The only indicator of his skin was the ripped part of his sleeve, a paper white color for his skin. The man hid his eyes further, covering his body completely and wearing a pitch black leather coat. He even had long black pointed tip boots, his peaked cap also just the pitch color of black with a slight tear on it.

He was silent, as if working on something. He spun his wrench like a baton, working on the machinery to get it back working again. Sweat came down his forehead, making his mask a bit wet. He rubbed the back of his head a bit, his boots covered in mud and his body almost robotic. Without emotion, without nothing. Just pure movement as if he could never become too tired to continue building his little factory.
The large man's hands moved methodically, it being as if he had no struggles in doing what he was doing as if working all day long was normal.

He turned the wrench, smoke still going everywhere. The man coughed slightly, but still working. With a twist of the screw...

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Word Count: 440
Spell Checks: 1

Hi! This is my new book I want to be published, hehe... this book is not part of a fandom which means its gonna be pretty hard to get views on..