The Factory by Yuliia Krasii

Standing in a green field, with high grass tickling our legs,

Grandmother asked me a bizarre question. 

“Is there a factory nearby?” she squeezed her eyes, looking in the distance. We were in the middle of nowhere.

“That’s impossible, Granny,” I softly answered her question, “we are surrounded by fields. Only nature and us”. 

“Then why can I hear the hum of machinery?” 

She dedicated most of her life to work. Doing the same thing almost every day, again and again, accompanied by the noise of a factory. Squeaking, hammering, and buzzing of all sorts covered her from her toes to her ears. She floated in the rough sounds of machines, working day in, day out. She never complained and seemed to enjoy being one with the engines, and motors. After years of hard work, Grandmother sometimes reminded the machine herself, doing everything neatly and precisely. 

I didn’t know how to answer her question. Each time we told her the truth about her hearing problems, it offended her greatly. 

“Maybe there is a factory somewhere,” I wanted to appease her interest. 

“Let’s go take a look then!” she turned her head to me and smiled. I couldn’t say no. 

We slowly strolled around, looking for the non-existent factory. Forest appeared ahead of us, and we moved towards it. After being under the sun, the shades of old trees soothed the body. 

“Look, Daniel!” Grandmother pointed her hand in the direction of the big pile of rusty details towered up, “That must be it”.

We came closer to see some old broken machinery lying around. Some of it had moss on top and looked unused for many years. Grandmother looked around as if she didn’t see the moss, the broken pieces, and the rust. 

“I told you there is a factory nearby!”