2.4 Creative Writing Assessment

It is a warm spring day in Venice. The sun gracefully rises into the sky, in its wake it banishes the moon into an abyss of darkness, transforming the night into the day. Soft rays of golden light shine down through the overcast clouds to illuminate the city that is only just waking from its drowsy slumber. Cobblestone streets of red and ashen grey are lined with ancient brick buildings, their arched windows and painted shutters briskly swept open by townspeople and tourists alike to greet the morning sun. The invigorating smells of freshly baked bread and mouthwatering delicacies waft from the corner street cafes to draw forth visitors from the comfort of their silken sheets. Dashing apartments of gold and soft cream lay embellished with window boxes that burst with the reds, oranges and yellows of fresh spring orchids. An ocean of people swarms through main street, trampling over one another and caught up in their own contemplations, as they scramble towards the house of God. Cathedrals with soaring spires and turrets the colour of fallen snow, sound their bells to proclaim that Sunday Mass is now in session, a gentle chime that carries far and wide in the morning breeze.

Listen. The gentle flow of conversation takes its steady path through the river of ongoing townspeople, out on their morning strolls. An excited undercurrent of gossip and banter streams through one person to the next, a trickle of information reaching people from all walks of life. Vengeful bubbles of misinformation or ruthless hearsay, a threat to one’s reputation, resurface from time to time, only to be popped from existence, as the current of truth pulls onwards. Venetian women draped in heavy silks of deep-sea blue and emerald green, flock like an excited school of fish through the streets, in clusters that bubble up in delight through the windows of storefronts. The source of the river looms up ahead, a marketplace, of gleaming golds and blues, shines in its almighty glory. Schoolchildren casually meander between stalls, buying whatever trinkets catch the gleeful gleam of their eyes, whilst businessmen bedecked in the finest suits that money can buy, indulge in the steaming delicacies of start-up patisseries. Traipsing up the hill come Volkswagens and Mustangs, their freshly polished hoods beaming like the lustrous pearls that delicately line the ocean floor. It’s busy for sure, there is prattling, babbling and yapping between sellers and buyers, old friends catching up and new friends made.

It is now 8:30. The last of the townspeople are returning home to their chambers and suites, guided home by the dim glow of the pearlescent moon. Fireplaces ablaze with the golden yellows and oranges of firelight, glow in the corners of each household. Families sip warm milk, hot cocoa and brandy in worn armchairs as they bask in the golden glow of the dancing flames. Each flame dances on through the night, like seaweed caught in the undercurrent. The grandfather clock chimes for each new hour and one by one, the penthouse lights are turned off by their dwellers. And as the last locks are turned and shutters closed, the city begins to close its sleepy eyes. Women in their silk night-gowns and men, with a waft of smoke lingering from their last cigar of the evening, turn into bed. Children bundled in handmade patchwork blankets and robes, slowly drift off to sleep, for their tired eyes and aching limbs must rest for the new day tomorrow. As eyelids flutter shut and covers are pulled up, the city begins to dream of magnificent and beautiful things, a stark contrast to the harrowing reality that lies just outside the comfort of their secluded homes.

Look. One hundred thousand pounds worth of German engineering sputters to life across the street from a corner law office, its sleek silver exterior, reflecting what little light still struggles to make its way out from beneath the overcast skies. The car makes a frantic path down to the end of the avenue, where a man disheveled from the long day at work, struts across to the other side, his pace quick and hurried as yet to return home before dark. A thin mist hangs in the air, one that dampens the heads of those making their way home from work in a dark cloud of uncertainty and wavering doubt.

And then you slowly make your way across the bridge that overpasses the Grand Canal, being mindful of midnight wanders who hide in the mist, waiting and watching for those who are foolish enough to walk alone. Skulkers and abductors lie dormant in daylight, yet when darkness descends they swim through the city like deep-sea creatures that lurk in the dark. The marketplace, now encrusted in a flaky layer of charcoal soot looms ahead of you. While it was bursting with life only hours ago, it now sits barren and lifeless in the dark. 1, 2, 3 you carefully step onwards, through the rusted revolving door which cries and groans in pain as you hastily push it open. And across the desolate landscape of cracked concrete that barely supports your weight from centuries of abuse. Arches, once golden and grand, now lay crumbling as they, in a final effort, struggle to support the roof’s mighty weight. Once the sun descends down upon the city beyond, this vast ocean of concrete is claimed by dealers and purveyors of the night. A place for those who work hastily beneath the night’s diverted gaze, where calloused hands exchange packages through brisk handshakes and unidentifiable toxins are slipped swiftly into the lining of one’s suit. Where men, women and children with no freedom sell their services to the desperate night roamers with a penny to spare. You walk with a sense of urgency through the sea of felons and criminals, wrongdoers and young offenders, sinners and crooks, knowing that you are prey amongst these sharks who hide in the dark. Yet you know that you are now approaching the apartment with the very last light on, the place that you call home. As you slowly turn the doorknob as yet to not wake the children who drifted off to sleep hours ago, you know that you will live to see another day. For the terrors that plague this city each night cannot hurt you once the morning comes.