It began as a grid, a mere sketch, a clutter of scratched pencil marks, she was designed on paper. From that, she emerged, a city; clean, British, aged with heritage.
Her main street is narrow and lined with trees, twinkling fairy lights drape their braches; their dense canopies lightly capped with snow. It feels as if it’s all a dream. The road seeing little traffic; waits, watching the night. Alleys branch from it, alleys which carry lifeblood into the town.
A glowing haze washes over the little city. Small yet proud. A serene, warm, and welcoming place. Still and calm. A place, a life time away. Before the devastation, before it was broken, shattered and destroyed. Before the hurt. A time, a place, now so far away, it remains fading, in memories, in photographs.
Children ran with rosed cheeks, choking with laughter, crisp from the cool air. Tossing handfuls of snow at one another; exploding lightly into a powdered mist, prior to impact. Their laughs echoed through the street into the dimly lit alleys.
Warm thick coco slides into stomachs of onlookers, warming their insides whilst they enjoy the final moments of the evening. As the sun sets on a peach and cream sky.
The buildings petite, old yet cosy, calling passersby to stop and admire them, to come inside, to share the twilight hours.
As the elderly church bell chimed into the still night, the city slept. Peaceful, quiet, blessed.
Now in stark daylight, she waits, ugly, torn. Wilted, cracked and destroyed. The once proud and beautiful city lays in devastation in rubble. Giant cracks tore through her delicate face, her mouth dry, parched, begging for water.
Her eyes weep for her lost children.
Her main street is narrow and lined with trees, twinkling fairy lights drape their braches; their dense canopies lightly capped with snow. It feels as if it’s all a dream. The road seeing little traffic; waits, watching the night. Alleys branch from it, alleys which carry lifeblood into the town.
A glowing haze washes over the little city. Small yet proud. A serene, warm, and welcoming place. Still and calm. A place, a life time away. Before the devastation, before it was broken, shattered and destroyed. Before the hurt. A time, a place, now so far away, it remains fading, in memories, in photographs.
Children ran with rosed cheeks, choking with laughter, crisp from the cool air. Tossing handfuls of snow at one another; exploding lightly into a powdered mist, prior to impact. Their laughs echoed through the street into the dimly lit alleys.
Warm thick coco slides into stomachs of onlookers, warming their insides whilst they enjoy the final moments of the evening. As the sun sets on a peach and cream sky.
The buildings petite, old yet cosy, calling passersby to stop and admire them, to come inside, to share the twilight hours.
As the elderly church bell chimed into the still night, the city slept. Peaceful, quiet, blessed.
Now in stark daylight, she waits, ugly, torn. Wilted, cracked and destroyed. The once proud and beautiful city lays in devastation in rubble. Giant cracks tore through her delicate face, her mouth dry, parched, begging for water.
Her eyes weep for her lost children.
She lies, chained, screaming, in wait of her saviour.
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