Book illustration

(...) The room, crammed with all sorts of stuff, has a hollow space - a pass. Later on, it changes into a corridor, leading towards the factory halls. The corridor is exposed to the challenging conditions of dustcovered deserts, as this is where it has been built. Wherever a gap can be found in its walls, grey grit covers the floor, piled as high as the knees. In this suffocating, toxic air, the eyes fill with tears. (...)

(...) Finally, the Market Day has been announced in the Eastern Hall. Most inhabitants do not even know it exists. They pass by, totally unaware about what is going on in here. It is fine - I am just glad I happen to be here. (...)

(...) One stall looked quite intriguing, worth checking out. As I approached it, the seller froze to the spot. Still carrying a box that he was about to place on a piece of lino, he seemed to have forgotten where he wanted to put it. He was standing sidewise and I could not see his face, which he had covered with an eyeless mask made of crumpled newspaper. I knew he was watching me. He was a collector. (...)

Fragments of a story by R. Jaszczuk
© Piotr Herla, 2018, all rights reserved