This piece is from a writing exercise where I tried to write an opening to a story without a character making an appearance.
It was a normal cold January morning. The traffic from the rush hour had started to die down and there were less cars on the road. The temperature that had previously been -2 degrees was now rising at was at a steady 1 degree.
The wind danced upon the trees, making the leaves shiver as it passed by. Shop shutters were opening and the street lights were turning off.
Though rain had been predicted the sky remained clear.
A car horn that had been blaring for a few hours, died and there was a calm in the air.
Mornings like this were the best type.
An empty Tesco bag flew down the road, twisting and twirling as it made it’s way down. It’s movements like a ballet dancer. It was flecked with a few spots of dirt, and was torn in places; which told a tale of a long journey and harsh journey.
This was a typical London morning. Nothing unusual than the day before.
A bus jostled past the bus stop, splashing a spray of water that had landed from the night before. Droplets of water fell from the stop joining the rest of the water in the puddle, a few hung on to the metal bar as if to say they did not want to join this endless group, but the inevitable happened and they fell to join the others.
The clouds had begun to separate and the Sun began to make it appearance teasing the street with little rays of heat.