Creative Writing

This is a snippet of creative writing I did in English today.

Murky water flooded out from the rusted sewer grating.
The foggy water— stained brown— dribbled its way along the gutter, until reaching the roadblock that was my head. This feces-ridden  liquid, with nowhere else to go, began to puddle around my cranium, seeping its way into my eardrums, my eyelids, and my open mouth. I catapulted myself to my feet, eyes widened. My head was throbbing, and the world around me was spinning. I shook my head, and began to regain my bearings. I was unable to recognise the surreal environment that I had been enveloped in. Tents, caravans, and shopping trolleys, and a wide variety of different pipes and syringes were scattered across the dirt-covered pavement. An elongated, high ceiling left the settlement below in a pit of darkness, filled only by the bonfires stashed in old, used propane barrels. The citizens of this fine, upper-class city laid around in trolleys, on the ground, or, like me, in sewer water-ridden gutters. I couldn’t help but stare. It was a community of homeless people. I was in a homeless settlement. My suit was in tatters, and goosebumps began to extend from my arms and legs, as the wind struck my damp hair, and undershirt. A nearly-empty bottle of whiskey struck my ankle, having been blown by the wind. I reached to pick it up, before shaking it, to determine how much alcohol was left in the bottle. I pursed my lips around the bottle’s used neck, and took a swig. Whoever had the bottle before me had watered the whiskey down, little by little, trying to make it last for as long as possible. Genius. My fingers unwrapped themselves from the bottle, letting it shatter on the cold, hard concrete below. I dragged my feet along the unwashed footpath, checking my pockets to see if I had my phone. It was drenched, and wouldn’t turn on. I let out the longest of sighs, before beginning my eternal search for the nearest bus stop...

If only I had any money left.