Monday, January 14, 2019

The Harbour – Creative Writing

The hold up begins to wake as the rhythmic chug of boat engines slowly return. The waves explode like bombs against the harbour w alone. Fog is dispersing to look on a fantasy of narrow streets st examg with captivating souvenir shops and innovative restaurants. Morning darkness fades, slowly the clouds drift, revealing a pure, spotless high sky. The town hall strikes 8 oclock, shop shutters rale as they raise, doors bursting absolved with a helping hand awaiting to welcome the customer with an embrace. A stinging smell of fish fills the air. A gust of wind full with offensive odour lingers.Sun-kissed light pours from the sky, the reflection upon the water blinding. Solitary streets are straightaway animated. Harmony is no more just the day is still premature. tucker fumes float as workers withdraw from their homes and start up their engines. The calling is solid finished and through reveal the town. People barge their way to local banks and supermarkets through overflo wing pathways. Tourists disembark upon the harbour, beginning the long awaited holiday. An enchanted wonderland of middling attractions sit upon the end of the pier, slowly they complete their circuits.Breakfast bars yield in the car parks serving up crisp bacon sandwiches drippage with butter and blistering coffee. Along the harbour front, fishermen sit mending their nets as though they are knitting. People drift in and out of streets, any(prenominal) white, some ruby-red, some tanned the suns violent rays causing skins pigment to discolour. young and old take a morning stroll along a beach like stretch of empty space. The view is cleared, what you see sends shivers mess your back, the seas elegance and harbour in almost complete perfection.Slowly a frying fragrance finds its way up your nostrils. Yes, lunch time rush, takeaway shops and restaurants are in full flow. The beach is filling young children begin to looseness their electrifying games. Everywhere you roam there are fish and chips. thin basteed fish, so crisp when you take a bite. Slowly the batter falls down your oesophagus leaving succulent flakes of cod warming your lips and tongue. Chips so soft, your first stress is sea salt and malt vinegar, second the slight grease tickling the back of your throat.A taste of white potato whirls as your teeth chew, and then all matter of food disappears from your mouth. misdeed in your mind about the fat content but the taste takes it away. Squawks are amongst the crowds as gulls swoop down for scraps. Gently relaxation occurs. Youngsters run with slight indigestion, the smouldering crisp sand making their young feet so sore. Afternoon falls. The beach is still packed with sunbathers and children. A drowsiness dawns. nigh people sit upon the harbour wall watching waves ripple in.Sticks of quake go crunch, candyfloss melts and fudge just makes you chew. A confectionary wonderland Laughter is contact showing every sign of full enjoyment. Deeper in to the town humanity is all common, drifting to and fro from high street designers to leather stenching shoe stores. Streets littered with ginmill wrappers from the bakery, sandwich boxes from the deli bar and general junk here and there. coke cans crunch beneath your feet as you walk and a gorgeous gist aroma wafts and asthmatics begin to choke. Calmness never seems to occur.Moving back through the town and down to the harbour, the beach is slowly beginning to clear and the soar upwards is creeping close. Bath taps drip as parents eagerly take in charge to untangle their childrens sandy locks. Light is fading cautiously as level draws in. Couples appear arm in arm. Shop shutters once again rattle as they close. Restaurants distinct smell is inviting. Open bars serve up crisps, nuts and cold beverages, alcoholic or not. Glasses chink as drunken chatter begins. In sight is a beautiful sunset, the red glow inspiring just like a painted watch but all fades when darkness graduall y descends.Soothing music from an cabalistic live band rings in your ears. Fishing boats begin to save out to sea. Hard workers wander down their local pulling out the pennies to achieve a taste of real ale. All that is recognisable in the darkness is faint outlines of people and places. Ping Pier lights turn on in their own unique brilliance. Club beats compose vibrations throughout the floor. People dancing and laughing makes the world seem blissful. So legion(predicate) people are having a good time. Slowly the volume crawl louder almost making your ears burst.Bang, tequila slammers hit the table hard, barely touch your lips but soon make you intoxicated. Jazz and liquor is no combination for anyone who is beatific and always seems to be composed. Ring a ding ding, bells sound. Last orders its time to go home. An emanation of alcohol is upon everyone. Silence in the end. As the lighthouse flickers like a candle the glimpse of a silent keister tumbles to its death. Anyone st ill awake, outside can only smell sea-salt and waste grub. The harbour is never always in tranquillity.

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