The towering, forsaken structures engulfed the winding highways in their umbra. The streets, once cluttered with commuters walking to and fro from work now suffocated by a plague of vehicles. The sound of leaves and the debris from the crumbling skyscrapers could be heard for miles through the slashing wind, bringing nothing but pain and torture to those in its path. Without the sounds of humans the city felt even lonelier and without warmth. A monstrous clock tower stood at the end of one canyon-like street, the giant black hands forever stuck at noon.
He made his way across the treacherous ground as the final light of day began to fade. Stumbling again and again, he began to slow almost to a halt. The wind bashing against his body had
…show more content…
Most were engraved with stunning silver patterns around the edges. He appreciated each one and carefully examined them, but one picture stood out from the rest. It sparked a sudden whiplash of memories of excitement and love. The sounds of the children's merry laughter echoed across the beach, sending colourful vibes, as they hurry towards the spellbound sea. A man shouted and he felt overjoyed and complete at the sight of the familiar face. The man wore a plain hoodie of sky blue and dark jeans that matched his old worn sandals. The man loomed over, close to him and reached out a friendly …show more content…
Skies were calm and lit full of dancing constellation lights, each telling a story of beauty. It gave life to the city as it reflected off the cracked Windows. He wanted to shelter somewhere, somewhere recognisable, to heal his scathed body. A sign pointed in the direction away from the city, the name of the street was hard to map out. Staggering to reach the destination, he could see streets of various identical small houses, perpendicular to each other. Sitting at the end is a bog standard house sitting quietly. Slowly he walked to the front garden without hesitation. Looking at the grass, it looked like millions of impaling rods surrounding the house. And wired green stems that clawed itself firmly on the sides of the walls. He searched frantically for an opening inside and did so through a punch hole around the
?The tenement was a long passageway of ruined houses, all exactly the same; small impoverished dwellings built of cement, each with a single door and two windows. They were painted in drab colors and their peeling walls were linked across the narrow passageway by wires hung from side to side. [She] walked deeper into the neighborhood, avoiding puddles of dirty water that overflowed from the gutters and dodging piles of garbage in which cats were digging like silent shadows. In the center of the little...
Nothing compares to the hustle and bustle of the city at night. As you walk up and down the streets of any city, you make your way through a crowd that should be sleeping, walking to the beat of the subway below them. Each city is unique in the way it comes alive. The movement of the city is brought to life by Ann Petry in the novel, The Street. Petry uses strong imagery to show the bitterness of the cold wind and personification to bring the scraps of paper along the sidewalk of the city alive. The reader watches as the life of scraps of paper and wind blowing down alleyways connects Lutie Johnson to the city. Petry walks us with Lutie Johnson as she experiences a cold November night near seventh and eighth avenue.
He awoke to the sun peeping over the horizon and through the dusty wooden blinds. The sudden brightness startled him. He took a breath, lifted his head, and gently observed the mystifying beauty of the landscape. But he lowered his head. Once again, he remembered.
I jumped out of bed on today, June 19, eagerly waiting when I would finally arrive at the Channel Islands National Park. I have been researching this park for some time, and I couldn’t believe that I was going to spend a few days on these wonderful islands. I got together my tent and my supplies, and I eventually headed out the door. I got on the boat bright and early, and I’m going to spend this time going over research. I read that it was established as a National Park on March 5, 1980.
The night sky was dismal, a brutal darkness with only the moon hanging lonely, sightlessly peering through the eerie fog. The spine-chilling wind blowing, whistling and howling as if sending signs of vileness ((whispers of…….?????)). The huge petrifying old oak trees with finger-like branches swaying violently.
A feeling of quiet isolation washes over me as I enter through the doorway of the great stone wall of the city. The smell of leaves and fresh rain enters my nose as I step into the paved path of the trail. In the distance, I hear the rhythmic rolling of the river’s waves slowly gliding along the river bank. I look
The crisp, blue water of the deep blue is a world untold, filled with mystery and gaze that I often enjoy the company of, when the opportunity is granted. The magnificent smell I get stepping out on the hot, beige sand of salty air, of fresh emerald sea weed. The smoothness of the sand running between my toes, and the first leap into the icy blue freshness that bursts onto my body with the gush of the powerful waves. The force of the waves pushing you back and limbness of letting her take you aback.
We all remember these grey gloomy days filled with a feeling of despair that saddens the heart from top to bottom. Even though, there may be joy in one’s heart, the atmosphere turns the soul cold and inert. Autumn is the nest of this particular type of days despite its hidden beauty. The sun seems foreign, and the nights are darker than usual enveloped by a thrill that generates chills to travel through the spine leaving you with a feeling of insecurity. Nevertheless, the thinnest of light will always shine through the deepest darkness; in fact, darkness amplifies the beauty and intensity of a sparkle. There I found myself trapped within the four walls of my house, all alone, surrounded by the viscosity of this type of day. I could hear some horrifying voices going through my mind led by unappealing suicidal thought. Boredom had me encaged, completely at its mercy. I needed to go far away, and escape from this morbid house which was wearing me down to the grave. Hope was purely what I was seeking in the middle of the city. Outside, the air was heavy. No beautifully rounded clouds, nor sunrays where available to be admired through the thick grey coat formed by the mist embedded in the streets. Though, I felt quite relieved to notice that I was not alone to feel that emptiness inside myself as I was trying to engage merchant who shown similar “symptoms” of my condition. The atmosphere definitely had a contagious effect spreading through the hearts of every pedestrian that day. Very quickly, what seemed to be comforting me at first, turned out to be deepening me in solitude. In the city park, walking ahead of me, I saw a little boy who had long hair attached with a black bandana.
All of a sudden, the forest became quite. The wind picked up and blew him off his feet. When I looked up it wasn't the wind at all. It was a long snout coming straight at me. It wrapped me up with leave...
Surrounded by noise from people enjoying themselves, I found myself getting lost in the tune of nature. I heard a roar coming from the ocean as each wave crashed ashore. Everything I could view in front of me was radiantly glowing. All the colors were vibrant and the ocean was deep, crisp, and bright blue. The moment I snapped back to reality, I started smelling cigar smoke being emitted from an old man who was delighted from all the beautiful women walking past.
middle of paper ... ...is way up the crumbling embankment where he landed. He turned his head to look back at the old tree and felt a pang of sadness for the ancient salt cedar as he watched it being carried away, its old roots spreading high up, out of the water, like an old withered hand, spread out to say goodbye. The old man bid his farewell to the ancient salt cedar and then found himself thrusting his body up and over the top of the embankment, landing face down.
Over the summer of 2015 a group of girls from my church and I went on our annual beach campout for the weekend. On the drive there we laughed and sang to the radio. When we got there were sluggishly set up our tents and the campsite. My best friend Elle and I put on our raincoats and grabbed an umbrella before we headed down to the beach. The cloudy sky and mist filled air didn’t make the best background for all of the pictures she was taking.
The dull light of the sun somehow manages to kindle my senses in a way I had never seen or felt before. Everything felt like it came to a standstill and the effect of the light made the scene look like one in a painting. The waves break gently into white foam on the black beach. The small crystals in the sand glimmer and twinkle brilliantly against the sunrays. The seagulls ride with the wind and the soft sand cushions my toes.
The city was blinding me with shining lights that you could see from space. It was glistening in the night and dull by day. There were cars parked all alongside the streets and traffic jams every corner.
I use any excuse to walk along the ocean, especially alone and without my phone. The wind blew cold air, but the sun’s warm rays kept my body at a perfect temperature. It was three in the afternoon and I was calm.