At the turn of the 20th century, a tuberculosis sanatorium was constructed upon a knoll overlooking miles of rolling forests and glades. Even today,
the fieldstone facings of the architecture seem at home within these rural surroundings. The facility operated in its initial role - as a sanatorium,
for many years, eventually turning into a state-operated hospital center. By the mid 1960's however, the building was no longer needed as a hospital,
and underwent a dramatic transformation, reopening as a reform school for young men. Some years later the school underwent changes once again,
though this time much more subtly, into a state juvenile services center. A present-day form of which still operates on these same grounds,
while the old hospital administration building falls deeper and deeper into disrepair.
Though the stonework that adorns the exteriors of this old institution seem to have well stood the test of time, they belie the frail state of the building's
neglected wood and plaster internals. Like many abandoned structures, some areas found within have fared worse than others, and here the difference
is as varied as night and day. One minute you may be walking confidently down the hallways of an upper-level ward, the next you may be searching
for footing on a section of flooring more akin to wet cardboard than any form of lumber. It is here, during these instances, that one understands just how
powerful a force as simple rain water can be - if left to the whims of nature, all that stands today will inevitably return to dirt. This is not a scenario
repeated from a science-fiction novel or film, it is simply the way of the world. Some find this concept frightening - as nothing, regardless of effort
or importance, is truly forever. Still, others take solace in this cycle.
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