PAPER SIGNS | miscellaneous

→ the city

another little thing i did for english. it was based off a picture but i'd stuck the physical copy into my workbook and idk how to get a clear version here so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
i had a lot of fun writing this, even if it's short.
topic: descriptive writing

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Once, this city was a vibrant metropolis. Its light shined so brightly that not a star in the sky could be seen. People from so many different origins and so many different personalities swirled together to form a place of remembrance. Under the night sky, we were one; united by the multicoloured lights that lit up facets of our faces. I had walked each one of these streets, carving their images and details into my memory palace. The sounds — music from shops, chatter from people, ticks from traffic lights — blended into a steady heartbeat, reverberating through my bones. Vehicles and busy-bodies whisked up and down the streets; the lifeblood of the city. I had looked up and seen nothing but bright billboards that covered the horizon, and it was more beautiful than any other sky I'd ever seen. I'd strolled until I had tasted every single shop that I know I'd miss. I'd wandered until my toes bled and back ached — but I will never tire of this city.

I should never have left. My family should never have left. One plague was all it took to devastate this haven. My family had taken wind of it early and moved as quickly as we could. I will always hate them for it.

Now, after five years of rain, sun, and storm, I stand here once more, looking at this place that I'd held so dear.

There is misery in these streets. It has soaked through every skyscraper, shop, and plant. Into sidewalk cracks and graffitied walls. Back alleys bleed the colour of sadness. Squeaks of rats echo through cracked windows. Cobwebs grow in the remnants of the city's skeleton. The tanginess of old medicine rests drily on my tongue. A cold wind blows, lifting up my hair slightly. It is not the warm breeze I once knew, that would carry the scents of street food and diesel. Instead, this reeks of gloom and desolation; of death. Grey now fill the skies, the streets, the trees. Gone were the rainbow lights. Gone was the thrumming blur of activity. Gone was its soul. Gone was my soul.

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it's funny because i feel the complete opposite from this narrator. i grew up in a city and honestly, i'm exhausted by it. how did i managed to make myself think such joyful things when i was writing this? i have no idea lmao.