Setting: I was aiming to describe a large, destroyed city. An uneasy atmosphere is described, with indicators that war has destroyed the city becoming more apparent throughout the text. A nuclear bomb has been dropped, leading to a nuclear winter. Moss and other flora spread across the city throughout the broken concrete. It is a weekend and about midday, using the time of day to suggest that people were sleeping in. I tried using allusions to death through the use of words like: skull, bone, grave, tomb, etc.

It was autumn, early morning in the metropolis, where the sun sought refuge behind the thick layers of white and grey clouding the sky, allowing the people to rest in their beds and catch up on their lost sleep from the day before. The skyscrapers stood tall, their frames elegant. The trees danced in the wind in their vibrant dresses of assorted colours. Green, purple, orange. Crimson. The city was alive.

Listen, the chirp of the birds, the honk of car horns, the choo of trains, the chug of the motorboats and the chatter of the people crossing the street. Remember it. Such sounds had seceded to the silence, their origins hidden beneath the rubble. Moss spread like a contagion throughout the fissures in the concrete of the dilapidated fortresses spread the contagion of moss. Listen closer. Silence. The towers looked like used candles as the smoke rose up past the roofs, a reminder to the passing of time.

It is a dark and moody day in the metropolis, where the people had slept in, far past midday. The monolithic husks of metal stood tall and in order, watching over the city with a sinister demeanour. Second to them were the rows of trees, hunched over like old men, their backs swayed as they braced themselves against the whittling wind, their limbs numb with age, with fingers of brittle, broken bone. The colour palette was ghastly bland. The air burned, the cold stung, winter had come early.

Hush. Let the city rest with its people. Listen for the heartbeat of the place that’s heart had long stopped beating. Thud. Thud. Thud. The only thud that remained was the sound of crumbling buildings as their warped legs gave way. They now resembled tombstones of metal and stone, which was as solemn a farewell as the city could muster. Most birds had already departed, fleeing the unexpected winter, and those that remained were either crows or canaries. Interrupting the silence did these birds continue to chirp, though they screeching songs no one wanted to hear, with harsh, raspy voices that were weak from the smoke.

Even by turning your back to the destruction, could you not shake the images of what you’d seen. Even with your back turned could you still feel its gaze burning into the back of your skull, the gaze of a lingering darkness that seemed to stare back with eyes of its own, beckoning you over to its embrace as it sings sweet lullabies of death. Feel the warmth of the sun on the concrete as you lie on the ground, under the covers of your bed of rubble. Under the thick blankets of ash, you, and the whole city would sleep. You searched for a place your eyes could look at without seeing the plaid death, though no such place could be found. You take a deep breath of the broken glass air, letting your mind roam, wondering which excitements the next day would bring, knowing there was nothing left.