A winter sun, the early morning type, spreads it’s comforting caress over the town. The frost melts, fire making water of ice and slipping through cracks and crevasses towards the sea. Smoke lifts through the crisp air and spreads it’s earthy aroma. Soot sets itself upon sanguine red rooftops. Birds beat black and white wings as they move with vamoose towards the rising sun on the shoulders of Christ.
He stands there, upon the hill, stoney faced in both meanings of the word. Arms stretch towards the edges of space to carry the sins of humanity. But all they carry are birds and guano, built up over itself and turning his grey arms white. Under his gaze lie the two towns, one built of brick, the other cast of concrete.
In the brick town, the warm scent of fresh baked bread drifts in the frigid sky, bringing a taste of a memory long forgotten. The rough cobblestones, slippery with dew and the wear of time file winding through the tight lanes, nooks and crannies. Early morning crowds bustle through the beautiful facades and fabrications. The aim at dawn is to collect the day’s feed from the many, many, many markets, merchants and marts. The horses are long gone, and newer mechanical steeds trot over the thoroughfare on two round rubber wheels. Towards the harbour, the odour of early mornings catch and the taste of salty sea water dominate the senses. Boats bob back and forth on the blue froth. The bay sweeps it’s gentle caress around the ocean and it lies content.
In the concrete town, fumes from cars and coaches twist among the buildings and boulevards. Listen, the honks and toots create a melody most violent. Smooth set sidewalks, marbled with imperfection march between the blackened tar road and dirtied stone walls. Workers stride quickly, often with a coffee in hand; Accountants and assistants, managers and clerks, receptionists, secretaries and salespeople. Their white collars gleam under the cold sun. Colourful facades of every colour imaginable flutter forwards like tropical birds. A green starbucks here, a yellow and red McDonalds there. The Noria is still, it’s gears ground to a halt and it’s lights turned out after a busy night of lifting bright eyed tourists towards the stars and back down again, over and over. The river swings wide around the city and it lies content.
The sun has gone to sleep and the stars awake from their slumber. Christ stands alone, not an avian in view. Under his gaze lie the two towns, one built of brick, the other constructed of concrete.
In the brick town, the killing cold works its way into bones and beds alike. The cobblestones are hazed with frost and ice and the few things out in the night skitter their claws over black glaze. The streets are silent, all but the hardiest having put out cooking coals and hearty hearths for the comfort of cotton cloak and coat. Mechanical steeds stand silent in their steel cages; Kawasaki, Honda, Suzuki, Vespa. Towards the harbour, masts and sails clatter silently in midnight’s subtle exhale. Boats bob back and forth on the now black froth. The cove crashes against bitter beach and it lies content.
In the concrete town, steam dots up into the sable sky from the night buses. Shadows slip soundlessly over the pitch-black pavement. The night-owls amble nocturnally; addicts and aberrations, drunkards and dealers, the partiers, the broken and the damned. They glow dull under moonlight and alcove alike. Colour is gone, greys mixed into blacks and greys again. The only light pours from ancient argon bulbs, derelict nicked headlights and, of course, the Noria. It twirls, dancing under the starlight, round and round and round, over and over again, blue glare igniting the shore. The river slips silently around the city and it lies content.
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Add Yours →This piece is developing a good strong sense of the of the scene you describe.
You are using some of the effects we explored in class – and there is room to take this further. Remember repetition, develop even more alliteration, assonance, personification.
Keen in mind the the adage “Show, don’t tell”. Consider the rhythm of the piece.
Be careful of your handling of the second person viewpoint. In the exemplars, which you can find here, there is a careful balance between the use of second and third person. Something to keep in mind is that a reader will accept you instructing them to listen or look – but you’re stretching credulity if you ask them to move their body or experience a particular sensory response – try not to operate your reader like a puppet.
Keep in mind the over-all arc of the piece. Work hard to offer your reader with a real sense of the whole location – what’s in the near ground and the far distance?