Snipe

The grey desolate structure sat on the hilltop, like an art installation.

The vertical square posts supporting the horizontal floors, no walls just open space, the rich blue of the empty sky shines through where the walls should be. No windows either, just the exposed concrete blocks, two floors topped by the metal rods, left sticking out the flat roof of the awkward structure the possibility of an extra floor that will never be built. the concrete stairs lead to the a non-excitant room above end mid flight, like a walkway to another dimension cut off mid step.

The abandoned building rests on the grey, dry, dusty dirt, that seems devoid of growth or life, no greenery in sight and yet plants grow from it, grey and without colour. Boulders of white and creamy ash litter the foreground looking like a Sisyphus's reacquiring nightmare.

Trees grow about the structure, old and untouched their limbs twisted back in on themselves and gnarly knots, like the arthritic fingers of an old witch, caught in one of her own spells. Grey leaves droop from the grey limbs, twisting about itself, somehow alive in the arid land.

To the side of the modernist abandoned structure, stands another building, a house, a home, tan and cream walls, red roof, fitted double glazed windows, the air conditioning unit, whirling away to itself, the solar powered generator producing endless power under the blistering golden sun. The house looking like a holiday home of a playboy tycoon, chills the air for no one, for the house with it's cooled air habitats no living soul within it's plaster finished walls.

Outside the ground is desolate, destroyed, broken lumps of concrete, stone and old building fill the yard, the drive a rough track between the discarded remains of debris and rubbish.

Flies and mosquitos buzz and flit about in search of rancid remains in the upturned bins.

All the while as the hot sun glares down through a endless blue sky, feral cats prowl looking for scraps of food and dogs look bored and too hot.

The path reaches a tarmac road, but fails to join it, because the workmen who once laid the tar, didn't bother to finish the job, just like every other job in the desolate land.

The half built gate post the only sign of the end of the property, the gates themselves are missing A lantern fixture was planned to adorn the top of the gatepost the exposed fitting for a electric light, is there but no bulb or shade cover the wires, the job abandoned before it is done.

A row of broken plastic chairs, sit in the gap between tarmac and gravel next to the gatepost, some with missing legs, others with holes in the seat, another missing half the back. Stuck to the middle chair lays a faded sign reading 'For Sale'. Clearly someone had a sense of humour once and as the hot, arid wind blows the across the road and down into the wide expanse that was once a river bed, run dry so long ago that bushes, shrubs and grasses of dirty grey have grown tall, amongst the flora of the ashen land, composting the ground is a half rotten goat's carcass. Black and tan crows pick at the rancid meat, cats prowl the edges hoping for a taste as a deep rumbling sound breaks the silence.

A figure moves imperceptibly in the shadow of that half constructed concrete form, hidden from view of all save the hunting bird on the wing high above, that circles on thermals always on the lookout for a moving meal.

The figure stood stock still like a knight of old at the top of a tilting yard, upon a muscular steed, awaiting the start of the jousting battle, except the figure in the blistering heat wears not the shiny metal plate o the warrior of old, but equally stiff and restrictive leather and suede.

The form moves then, stiff legged, arms restricted in fluidity as it turns to sight the source of the noise. The heavy coat and trousers each a patchwork of leather pieces, heavy buttons, buckles over the shoulder hold a backpack tight to the body, belts add support and solidity to the standing form, with moulded armour and back supports fitted in the uniform. The material is thick and hard, sewn together with thick thread, All in aid of making them even more solid, more rigid for when the time comes ad they need to be the picture of stillness that will perfectly match their concrete surroundings. There is no camouflaging this individual, each section of the cloth is a different colour to its neighbour and all in bright, garish colour. red, green, blue, one yellow shoulder, the other a lilac, should anyone think to look to the derelict structure, but no one has and so it stands like the a Parlottzi statue, the only movement, a single visible eye under the long visored cap, the other eye permanently closed and doubly blocked off by a patch, the collar of the heavy coat brushing the chin and they watch distant horizon.