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The figure stands alone.

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English creative writing The figure stands alone. I look. I look at this figure at first glance a respectable soul. Some would say a distinguished soul, yet I sense something is not right with its soul. Its large white eyes peep at the wonders of my home. It holds its head low and stiffly, an eyebrow slightly raised staying alert of any prying eyes. Its chest beats harder and harder. Its pulse rises higher and higher. Anxiety runs blood red through it's face. Its vice like grip grasps its grey expensively tasteless briefcase, held tightly against its beating breast. Alone it stands in place bustling with mischievous people. It is the single oxygen molecule amongst a sea of carbon dioxide, waiting to be breathed in. Red light, not pure like the white light we know and love, for that does not exist in a place like this. It is slowly choked out until its presence is out of all recollection. A faithless mist of red, dirt and corruption has taken its place, the mist thriving in the darkness of the underbelly of society. ...read more.


A small quantity of light is enough to turn a client back to his pure roots. Nevertheless, often its desires run too deep to be thwarted by such a minor thing as conscience. Only the purity of his soul can prevail, to bring him back to righteousness. I look at the figures anxiety rising, it fidgets as if it is insane, it no longer stands but passes up the cold dreary streets. The first glance of respectability is no more it is tainted. I can't or maybe I dare not fathom what it is. A crowd of eroded bricks and derelict buildings surround listening constantly, waiting for the next being to ejaculate their souls to the blind ladies of the night; we only see Queen's heads on crumpled paper, not crumpled personalities on frail skin. Yet, the small figure waits anxiously, playing with the locked locks on his briefcase. The grey solid streets run like a river of corruption assimilates the light. The curb crawling fat cats waiting to pick up their suspecting prey. Each one with its own individual taste. Puddles of personality infected slime; lay visions of waterholes for straying beasts. ...read more.


Jet black eyebrows are as artificial as attributes the district has. The lights show the tension of a hundred sleepless lives, lying under each eyelid. Yellow blood shot eyes are the burden of a helpless lonely thing. Yellow but not as like the morning sun escaping from the west to a friend in the east. No it is yellow like a coward, afraid and friendless. The attributes of a man with immense wealth but immense loneliness. Alone. Frightened of being alone, another night, week, and year, even eternity. He continues to stand and wait but suddenly he turns and covers his face, dropping his two-comma respectability becoming a commoner like us. The lawless corrupt figure, I look, I look no longer for the vision I am confronted with is crystalline, I see something sinister, two evils, small, deformed, yet dwelling inside each one of you. Ready to indulge in the pleasure of the flesh. Wait he has devolved into a frail and scared child. Quaint as a conscience is, it is rather annoying. The cowardice but quaint child wins. Fearful of the environment, he flees with the speed of his youth to find sanctuary in a distant place, just as Jonah fled. ...read more.

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