A short story based on real happenings that occurred in London during around the 11th December to the 13th December 2013
The grey sky was bright in comparison to the misty ground below. The fields were a blur of green and teal as the train carriage rushed by in a fog of swirls and colours. Such was my average train journey to school on an early cold winter morning.
The first few stops brought frosty dew drops on grass on vast areas of lawn; a slowly dawning sky painted a thousand different shades of pink and orange and yellow; crystallized, transparent droplets spluttered on the double-glazed thick glass windows that encased the carriage in a mirror of reflections as the clouds spilled their contents on the cold, hard-packed dirt and earth. There were few houses or tarmac roads out on the unspoilt countryside.
After a while the area around the tracks began to evolve into more established counties as the train began to roll into more urban environments. A plain rolling hill veiled in a thin gown of mist hid a magnificent manor which sat comfortably on the top, looking proud and well-made. Below it, a maze of soft red brick houses with iconic little rectangular chimneys, some blowing out grey and black fumes which slowly dissipated into the colourless sky. The sounds of beeping horns and busy people filled the air as we slowly crawled into London on the train.
Finally, I reached my station and scrambled out of the now-crowded and packed carriage, which was getting hot and stuffy due to all the people stuffed in it. Getting outside was slow-painfully slow. The station platform was madly overcrowded and I had half a mind that I would fall onto the tracks at any time from even the slightest push or budge from another passenger near me. Eventually, I reached the outdoors, the blissful outdoors. The clouds had parted and a faint spot of light shone from them, creating the essence of a halo over the tumultuous city-much welcome to me, and I daresay everybody else around me. This is how it always was, how it always is, and how it always will be.
Next short story: After
A story about rain.
Idea from England floods during this last winter.