Marie London was a dark and dismal place tonight. Night had descended on day and it had been raining hard for hours. It was relentless, falling in huge droplets swiftly but steadily and made infinitely worse by the buffeting wind which one minute assaulted your front, quite taking your breath away and the next roughly nudging your back trying to unbalance you. If you’d been an artist trying to paint the scene, then colour would have been no use on your pallet. All that was required were shades of black and grey as everything was playing at being mere shadow. There was no conversation between individuals as people desperately just kept moving forward, to get home or at least reach their destination and escape from the appalling weather. One of the figures being battered, holding tightly onto their coat hood and trying desperately to avoid being drowned by the drenching conditions, didn’t appear any different to the rest. They were just one of many walking haphazardly along the pavement in a steady stream of weary travellers. However, for some unfathomable reason, this individual started slowing their pace and even more puzzling appeared to be looking for something, though it was nigh impossible to see anything through the foul weather conditions. Clearly they were uncertain about their whereabouts but seemed totally unaware the inconvenience they were causing by slowing their speed. The inevitable happened of course as the line of people behind, who had kept their original pace were scrunched and the culprit of the potential pile up was knocked roughly from behind. They stumbled and there were irritable growls from trekkers who just wanted to keep on moving and more mutterings from further behind of individuals now caught up in the queue. Why would anyone be mad enough to want to stop in this hell that was a storm. .................
Posted on: Thu, 12 Sep 2013 19:24:41 +0000
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