It is summer, the sweltering heat holds you; dangerously close. The tired droplets of sweat follow the wrinkles, Thirst grows. Their tongues stuck out in hope for a lone shadow under the suns anger. The eyes stand still drinking the stained coffee, tasting the snarl of bark.
See it? the hungry sky, the blinding sky. The Clear blue once happy and content broken to sections. The Infectious pollution breaking the puzzle, the hints of grey slowly outgrowing the blue. The clouds, their dry clouds, weak and ambidextrous but they follow you gliding like a feather closer to the eyes.
It begins. The sun starting the race, beat the heat. Listen, engines, loud and proud, begin the chaos. The controlled chaos. Motorbike, Car, Bus every type of engine composes their loudest roars. They sit still, while the world moves around them. Every space filled by some vehicle. Creating lines of traffic, no order. Noise from the horns flying around, calling out of everyone’s attention. The tires are worn out but are still hungry for a grip of the earth. The spin of the rubber breaking up the dirt below them. Along the dirt road, the chaos builds. Feel it surround you.
Slow, slow breath and slow air. The eyes, the confused eyes. Tall, short and every gender. All wearing the iconic, dark navy trousers freshly ironed, and a transparent white shirt. Like bee’s who have lost their queen, looking for a purpose, they swarm you. Smell it? The bouquet of every type of cologne overloading, staining you. Breathing is difficult. Slow. In the distance, a mountain top holds a raid, a heard of eyes and engines beelining it at you. You’re not safe.
Keep walking. Along the edge of a knife, A silver blade ready to catch you. The race continues. Feel it, the edge of death, one wrong step and black. But keep moving. The arid dirt, tasteless but hungry for you to fall. Broke in the most random of places, potholes and ditches, cracks and rubble ahead of you, keeping a close eye on you. The stains of midnight beer coat the dirt, it’s sticky glueing you to the ground. The remnants of glass, concaved, sharp with claw’s out still left behind from the midnight drunks, it tickles your feet. Keep walking. Your balance is everything. The ground, your closest enemy.
There! A hint of shade, canopied by a banyan tree. Heroically standing. Your saviour, waiting for you. Feel it, the heat within you slowly being overtaken by the shadows. Below the shade a bamboo juice cart. The cart, old and rotting, falling apart has eyes, watching the mist of the dirt. Flowing through each body. Do you see it? The luscious sticks of flavour being crunched, squeezing the thirst-quenching juices out of them. Feel it, the glass is warm, but once down your throat, a river of refreshing flavour sliding through you. Silencing the heat.
Time stops. Listen, a few seconds of silence.
Falling over you, a thin piece of fabric canvasing the sky. The once baby blue turns into the broken beauty of the night. The blankets have been drawn, pillows fluffed and the floor mat put down. But the night is young. The fabric has holes within it, holding the crystal stars, shimmering a simple white. The clouds create an Ethiopia over you a whole new city, holding the transparency, it’s soothing. Hear it, the silence. Then it comes single light beam watching over you, protecting you.
The heat still lingers but is cooled by the blink of the moon. The dogs come from hiding, howling with the night. Wandering. The dogs hungry, scared, searching for a purpose. Beyond them, the people, lost in their own thoughts, trying to find balance within the twisted roads.
The lights activate, shimmering LED signs, shouting at you to come in. Screaming at you, promising a good night. Outside them the people, young and drinking their problems away, but enjoying their life. Hear them? That’s the sound of joy.
The wind builds. It summons the animals the homeless, carpeted in grime and a pond of bacteria. Wind, it creates a funnel of filth and rotting leaves circling around you. The night becomes brighter, the night builds. Circling you. The disarray of lights. The sounds, the utter chaos, summoning the anarchy. The sea of noise, waves and waves of cars and people. Close yours, the chaos only follows to tomorrow.
1 Comment
Add Yours →This piece is developing a good strong sense of the vibrance and chaos 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, alliteration, assonance, personification.
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.
While you’re deliberately trying to create a chaotic effect, remember to provide an over-all structure or ‘arc’ to the writing so the reader ultimately gains a sense for the place in which you have placed them.