The City at Night
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Joshua Martin GCSE Descriptive Writing- The City at Night The click of my heels on the exhausted cobbled path echoed into the distance. This was my meeting point. I was stood on George Street, just south of the town centre, waiting for him to arrive. My eyes winced for a sign of him as increasingly light became sparse. Only an old street lamp could shield me now, its thin rays fighting to reach my eyes, though falling to penetrate the overwhelming darkness. The proud lamp seemed to have stayed in a time which the rest of the city had forgotten. It was filled a deep blue, so pure that all dirt and grime seemed to reflect off it. The aroma of charm and grace which it breathed into the city made the street seem lit with a light the eyes were not advanced enough to detect. For the first time in a long while, I smiled at its comforting presence.
And I remember the people- Oh! The fantastic people. Some wore elegant pin striped suits, ties brandished with 'Mr Men' or other cartoon characters. If I remember correctly, many simply wore a pleasant, refreshing shirt which would Joshua Martin keep them cool in the mid-day sun which was intensified by the large modern glass windows of sky-high buildings. A cat stabbed at my concentration as it shot past the tip of my toes. The cat fired a suspicious sure glance from her glowing grey eyes and then was off again, lost in the darkness. My instincts told me to move on; perhaps he was not going to turn up. Perhaps I'd have to kill him. I began to walk towards where I had been so many years earlier- perhaps he would remember. I continued to reminisce about the glorious city of which I used to be a part. The noise of the city continued to roar. 'Watton café' was just right of the town hall.
Underneath the cream and surgery though, it was no secret that there was a frail old woman. Her hand must have been given a disproportionate amount of attention as they sagged in the café lighting. On one portrait a man sat at a long, brown, majestic, polished table, filled with goods such as grapes, turkey and bread. His long curled hair accentuated his imposing, rigid nose. The man wore what looked like a red velvet duvet. The portrait inspired all who saw it, bringing peace and virtue to every man and Joshua Martin woman who entered the café. It was a constant reminder of what a proud city Haller city was. I was sitting in the 'modern' Watton café on a clammy wooden bench which felt to have aged along with the rest of the city. Watton café had not been open in years, which was obvious from the removed windows and weathered walls. Only the outdoor furnishings remained; another clue which has never been explored into why Heller city was left to die. It is my job to find out how it happened. By Joshua Martin 10L
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