The stories of Monfeld fall into two groups. These are those who encounter something within the shopping centre itself, and those who remove something from it.
This one resides in the latter category. Like my comments last week about energy, it makes me think about what might exist within the framework of the building.
As always if you have any questions, please post them in the comments below.
My favourite clothes shop shut down long before Monfeld closed. Their stock included hot pink t-shirts, wallet chains, and baseball caps adorned with green skulls. After fashion trends changed, survival was impossible.
No-one ever took over the unit. The empty shelves looked over a shopping centre on the brink of liquidation, and never saw another customer. But the poster remained on the wall. I saw it on an urban explorers forum. That cool girl throwing up devil horns in a world of fire.
She had watched down on me when I had purchased baggy jeans and skate shoes. Made the reckless decision with a bright orange hoodie. She had supported me for all those happy years. I had to rescue her before she rotted away.
I broke into Monfeld via a small window on the ground floor maintenance area. My knee is dodgy, and I nearly faceplanted onto chipped concrete. But soon I was inside, creeping along with my torch. The amount of junk in the corridors is ridiculous. Food wrappers and street art are everywhere. Monfeld is turning into a bin. But despite the grime and the shadows, I reached the clothes shop without bother.
My heart pounded, and I kept flexing and unflexing my hands. In my thoughts the police were around the corner a thousand times over. But that poster was still on the other side of the glass. She still grinned at me, her devil horns raised.
Unless some staff entrance existed deep within Monfeld, this was my only way in. A thin band of silver between the double doors blocked my quest. I rattled and shoved and pulled at the door handles, but nothing budged. Any attempted kicks just made my feet ache. I closed my eyes, wishing for the bravery needed to smash the pane.
When I opened them, the poster hung on my side of the window.
When I took the blu-tac off, the ink was as warm as fresh bread.
She hangs on my wall at home now. She watches me. That heat still radiates from within. And what’s crazy is I can put my hand through. I can almost reach the flames.
