The Factory

 She looked out her bedroom window, and considered visiting the factory. It had been weeks since she'd been, and she couldn't help but be curious if anything had changed.

 Her own house was falling apart. The hole in the roof could not be fixed; not without asking Arthur to come fix it, and her father owed him too much already.

 The old factory had not changed much; it was old, decaying, and smelled utterly disgusting. But it was home, in more ways than her own house was. She had so many memories here; the tires that she used to roll around in with her brother, the time she tripped and cut open her knee on a rusty nail, the various dark places that she used to hide in from her father.

She would have to leave it, she knew. They were leaving soon, leaving their debts behind. But they were also leaving their friends, and their house, and her factory. She would not forget it though. She would never forget the factory. She hoped it would wait for her. Maybe someday she would come back and sit in the tires again, and lie on her back and watch the birds flutter around as the sun filtered through the cracks in the roof.